Shower
by honeyMellon
Summary: I live in a pretty shitty apartment complex. One of the downsides is the fact that, apparently, two people can't take a shower at the same time. Every time the guy upstairs showers, it fucks with the pipes and I end up nearly getting cooked by boiling water. And this asshole just loves to take a shower right when I'm taking mine. Warnings posted inside.
1. Scalding Hot

**I hate the lousy piping system at my apartment. I really, really do.**

**UPDATE: It has been brought to my attention that some people may feel uncomfortable with the storyline of this fic. Please be warned that the actions and thoughts of the characters may elude to sexual abuse. If you do not feel comfortable with such elements, please hit your Back button now. **

* * *

The water sounds like music to my ears. I have been looking forward to this shower for the entire fucking day, and it feels every bit as amazing as I imagine it to be. The temperature is perfect, the water pressure high enough to feel like strong, sensual fingers massaging my muscles.

I pour a liberal amount of my favorite body wash—peach scent, don't judge—onto my sponge and work up a good lather on my chest. The refreshing and slightly fruity smell fill the shower stall, and I take a good long sniff before letting out a sigh. I'm not ashamed of my shower gel preference. Some men need to smell "spicy", or "musky", or whatever hell the marketing folks call it these days, in order to feel manly. Me? I have enough manliness as it is, add any more and I would start _smelling_ like testosterone.

I stretch my back as I twist around to scrub my sides, feeling the muscles flex and bunch at all the right places. My workout regimen is going well, I'm definitely bulking up. I feel leaner and fitter than I have since graduating from university. My biceps have gotten thicker, the ridges of my abdominal muscles more visible. I'm in top shape, if I may say so myself. I start smiling to myself. If this continues, I will have to replace some of my clothes, maybe have my pants altered, and my suit—

The water turns scalding hot abruptly, cutting off my train of thought. I yelp and jump out reach of the water spray, my baby blue shower sponge slipping out of my hand to land in the soapy sludge at my feet.

"Fuck!" I yell, rubbing my elbow where it has slammed against the tiled wall during my hasty escape.

This is _it_.

For _months_ it has been like this. I live in a pretty shitty apartment complex. One of the downsides is the fact that, apparently, two people can't take a shower at the same time. Every time the guy upstairs showers, it fucks with the pipes and I end up nearly getting cooked by boiling water.

And this asshole just _loves_ to take a shower right when I'm taking mine.

I turn off the faucet and climb out of damn shower. I grab my towel and wrap it around my waist before I trudge into my room, leaving wet foot prints behind me. I ignore the water that's running down my face.

I yank my front door open and step into the hallway. I don't care that I'm about to stomp upstairs clad only in a towel. Like I said, I'm in top shape. I wouldn't mind having a few pairs of eyes on me.

Along the way, I walk past a few neighbors. Nobody I really know or particularly care about. An old lady here, a mousy-looking brunette there, a busty blonde on the stairs; they all stare at me like I'm nuts. I just puff out my chest and look right back at them. Only the blonde holds her gaze. As I brush by her she actually licks her lips. I wink at her, feeling my pride soar even though I play for the other team. A girl can dream, right? So I let her.

Once I reach the top of the stairs I turn right and storm towards the unit directly above mine. I've never actually seen this guy. I only know that it's a dude because I can hear his voice when he talks on the phone. More like shouts into the phone. I pity the poor bastard who's on the other end of the line. Someone called Goat-face or some shit like that; it's always the same person getting yelled at.

Finally, I come to his door. I suck in a deep breath and raise my arm, then I take out all my frustrations on the damn wooden door. I pound on it with my fist like I want to break it down. I know I have to be loud for him to hear it from the bathroom, but I think I'm overdoing it a little. Whatever, it feels good.

I hear a muffled call in there somewhere. I can't make out the words. Not that I care, really. I just want the fucker to open this door so that I can bash his head in. So I continue banging on it. Down the hall, a bald guy opens his door and peeks his head out. His mouth opens like he's going to tell me to shut the fuck up, but he takes one look at my face and hastily shrinks back into his apartment.

I sneer in his direction. Fucking coward.

Just as I turn back to the door that's standing between me and my victim, it opens from the inside.

"What the fuck?" the familiar voice greets me.

I look down at the man in front of me and almost forget the reason I'm here.

You see, even though I haven't seen him, I've sort of constructed a mental picture of him in my head. He sounds boyish, his voice deep but not gruff, so I imagine that he's some pimply kid fresh out of high school, probably skinny with a big head and limbs that are too long.

Boy, am I wrong.

The eyes currently boring into mine remind me of amber, brown with sparks of gold. They're narrowed—because clearly, he's pretty pissed off—but the anger only makes them shine brighter. I stare into those eyes, absolutely speechless, then I blink and take in the entire face.

I'm right about the asshole being young, but that's pretty much where my assumptions end. He has the most flawless skin I've ever seen; not the pale, baby-smooth sort, but rather the tanned, beach-model kind that instantly makes me jealous. His cheeks are a little flushed, which I assume is from the shower. His face is wet, just like mine.

But what really catches my eye is his hair. It's wet and plastered to his scalp, and it's orange. As in vibrant, Hawaiian-sunset-like _orange_. Thin rivulets of water trickle from his hairline down his face, and I can't help but follow the water as it flows along his jaw. There, it drips down onto his chest.

His bare chest.

He's wearing nothing but a towel, just like me.

"The fuck are you staring at?" the kid snaps at me.

His voice shakes me out of my stupor, and I suddenly remember why I'm here.

"_You_!" I bark, pointing a finger at him. "Do you know that every fucking time you take a shower, you mess up the water and ruin _my_ shower?"

I know. It doesn't make much sense, but that's all I can muster at the moment. I think he just fried my brain.

He frowns and arches an eyebrow, the combination almost comical but somehow manages to look perfect on his face.

"So…you're telling me I can't take a shower?" he asks. He looks at me like I'm crazy.

I give him my best glare. I open my mouth to say something intelligent, then I realize that I have no fucking idea _what_ to say. I guess I just want to vent, take my frustration out on him. But beyond that…I don't know how we can solve this, really.

Before my brain can tell my mouth to shut the fuck up, I find myself saying, "No, just don't take it when I do."

The kid snorts. I see his lips twitch like he's holding back laughter. "So, you gonna give me your time table or something?" he asks.

_Smartass_.

Instead of feeling embarrassed like any normal person would, I flash him a wide, wicked grin. I have no sense of modesty, in case you haven't noticed already. _He_, on the other hand…I can tell he's the type who becomes embarrassed easily.

I'll show him that laughing at me isn't such a great idea.

The glimmer of mischief in his eyes falters a bit and he takes a step back, away from the door.

"No, that's not what I had in mind," I tell him.

His eyes widen. My arm intercepts the door as he tries to slam it close.

"Then w-what do you…have in…mind?" he asks. His voice breaks a bit but he stands his ground.

I look at him up and down, then I pull a trick I just learned from that busty blonde on the stairs. I stick my tongue out and run it over my upper lip, then my lower lip, very, very slowly.

He swallows audibly.

I lean down and whisper in his ear, "Let me show you what I _really_ have in mind…"

I grab his arm. He struggles and tries to fight me off, but I'm a lot bigger than him. He's not small by any means, but he's skinny compared to me. I drag him in the direction of his bathroom. I know where it is, of course, because his apartment has the same damn layout as mine.

"What! Are! You! Doing?" he shrieks.

I pull him into the bathroom and pin him against the wall opposite of the wash basin. "I think you have an idea what I'm doing," I say, letting my breath tickle the shell of his ear.

I feel him shudder. He bites his lip and glares at me. I can tell that he's afraid, but he still has fire in him. He's not going down without a fight.

Just the way I like it.

I'm still holding on to his arm, so I just tug him along as I head to the shower stall. It's a tight squeeze, but we fit into it alright. Both of us.

"_This_ is your idea of solving the problem?" he asks, looking absolutely incredulous. "Showering together?"

I cackle in glee and reach for the shower head. The spray of water almost blinds me.

I proceed to strip out of my towel. I toss it out of the stall and let it land in a heap on the floor, then I search through the assortment of bottles that is available and pick out the body wash. What a coincidence, looks like the little punk likes peach as much as I do.

I start to wash myself, continuing the shower that he interrupted. I pretend to ignore him, but I steal a glance at him out of the corner of my eye. His mouth is wide open, and he's blinking furiously like he's trying to wake up from a nightmare.

I count in my head: _three…two…one…_

"You're not serious, are you?"

I turn around and smile innocently at him. "So what if I am?"

Then I realize that he's not looking at my face. I follow his gaze…down, down, down…_oh_.

"Wow, it really _is_ blue," I hear him mutter.

I want to laugh, his expression is just too precious. Two seconds later, it occurs to me what his tone implies.

"You've been wondering if it is?" I ask curiously.

He looks up, and I see deep pink stains blossom on his cheeks.

All of a sudden, I'm not so interested in taking a shower anymore. Well, not that I really am in the first place…

He backpedals as I take a step towards him. There really is nowhere for him to go in this tiny space. His back hits the wall and he stares at me, the blush on his face becoming even more prominent.

I reach up and let my fingers ghost over the side of his face, following his hairline. I rub my thumb over the shell of his ear, his jaw, then I hold his chin and tilt his face upwards. My heart skips a beat when his eyes slide close. He knows what's coming, and he's not moving away. The realization of the fact sends a tremor of excitement up my spine and I feel a gush of blood rush down to my happy place.

He lets out a soft whimper when I brush my lips against his. I keep the contact light, then I pull away. His eyes fly open, glazed over and confused.

"So…" I drawl, lowering my voice to make it sound husky and sexy. At least, my former partners have informed me that I sound sexy like that.

I notice that he's breathing through his mouth, and his knuckles are turning white from the way he's clutching his towel.

I allow my grin to widen. "When exactly…did you start to wonder…" I murmur, holding his gaze. "…what color it is…down _there_?"

To my surprise, he whispers, "Since…I first moved in."

I raise my eyebrows. "And when is that?"

"Four months…two weeks…three days…ago," he mumbles.

The tip of his ears redden as he says this, and I can't stop myself from licking them. I cup his face and let my tongue travel from his ear to his neck. He tastes like peach. I reach down and remove the offending towel from his waist.

"So you've been watching me," I state, flattered. I never knew I have a little stalker on my tail.

He gulps and shivers as I suck gently on his earlobe. "Y-yes," he grits out.

With my ear next to his mouth, I can hear every pant that leaves those enticing lips. Lips that are moist and parted and oh-so-soft.

"Mmm," I hum. "Now that you know…what do you want to do? Hmm?"

The kid outright moans at that. I clench my jaw, forcefully swallowing the answering groan that's at the tip of my tongue. He's going to have to work a lot harder to earn that from me.

We stare at each other for a few seconds. I keep quiet and wait for his answer. His Adam's apple trembles as he swallows, then slowly…slowly…he slides down, his hands trailing down my sides, over my hip bones, my thighs, then they circle around and rest on my ass. I feel his warm breath on the tip of my cock.

My heart threatens to jump out of my chest. I'm so excited that I can _see_ myself twitching and bobbing in anticipation. He gives me an almost adoring look, then he leans in and takes me into his mouth.

I feel my knees go weak as I'm suddenly engulfed in wet, fiery heat. I rest my palms on the wall and glass door to keep myself upright. I let out a shuddering sigh as he begins to suck and stroke me at the same time.

Good god, he is fucking _talented_.

The entire time, he continues to look at me, his eyes wide open and greedy. I can't look away even if my life depends on it. I'm entranced by the burning lust in his gaze.

What have I done?

I think I've just released a monster; all his pent-up hunger—all four months, two weeks, and three days of it, and now he's going to devour me.

I'm more than happy to let him.

"Yeah, harder," I slur.

He moans around me and I finally let a groan tumble from my lips. The vibration in his throat adds to the already-blinding pleasure. I can't take it anymore.

"Up, up," I command, threading my fingers in his orange locks.

He stands up, a sly smirk on his face like he knows how desperate I am. The minute he's fully on his feet, I slam him against the wet tiles and crush our lips together. I need him I need him I need him.

I grip his hips and grind against him. He pushes back, his cock rock hard and weeping. I fumble blindly for that bottle of peach-scented body wash. I squirt a generous amount of it onto my palm, then I lift one of his legs and search for his entrance.

He bucks against me as soon I press into him. He's so damn tight that I don't know if I'll be able to do this without hurting him.

"Do it, just fucking do it," he croaks when I hesitate.

His wish is my command.

I snap my hips and feel him yield to me. He cries out, his voice breaking. I give him a deep kiss to distract him, and when he nods I pull out and thrust into him again. His muscles contract around my cock and I groan, then I open my mouth to say his name and…

"What's your name?" I ask, feeling a little guilty.

"Ichigo," he gasps. "My name is…Ichigo."

I chuckle. "Nice to meet you, Ichigo." I rock into him right as I repeat his name, and he lets out a noise that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

Given that he's my little stalker, I assume I don't have to introduce myself. Sure enough, he starts to whisper my name, over and over again like a mantra.

By now, we've found a fast and steady rhythm. With his leg hooked around my waist, I brace myself with one palm against the wall next to his head and keep my other hand firmly on his hip. I slide in and out of him mercilessly, wringing all sorts of delicious sounds from him.

He's getting louder, his voice becoming hoarse. I feel him clench around me, and I know he's close. I quicken my pace, pushing him nearer and nearer to his limit. He clings to me, his fingers digging into my back, his head thrown back against the wall.

Almost there…

When his pleasure crests, he screams my name. The sound echoes around the tiny bathroom, bouncing off the walls and driving me over the edge. I gasp, unable to form any coherent words as I release deep inside him. It feels like all my energy is flowing into him.

I lose track of how long we stay like this, holding each other like long-lost lovers. His breathing starts to even out eventually, and I let go of him.

He doesn't move away.

I smile into his hair and reach behind me for the shower head. I pour more body wash onto my palm, then I touch him. Not the frenzied, needy kind of touch. This is almost gentle, like a caress. I let out a contented sigh. I can do this forever and not get tired of it.

He lifts his head and peers into my eyes. I feel his fingers on my forehead. He brushes my bangs out of my face and presses his lips on mine.

We wash each other, slowly and thoroughly. His skin feels like silk beneath my fingers. I turn him around and massage his shoulder blades, loosening the knots in his muscles. He sighs and leans back against my chest. We stand under the water until our fingertips are so wrinkled that they feel rubbery.

Never in my dreams have I imagined that this would be the outcome. I watch his reflection in the mirror as he tries to tame his hair with his hands. I chuckle. It's not working; the mess on his head sticks out stubbornly in every direction except the one he wants it to go. He catches my gaze and scowls at me. I guess he doesn't like people having a laugh at his expense.

I don't know where this will lead. I don't know if he will like me for who I am once he actually knows me. But I have a feeling that I won't have to worry about getting scalded in the shower for a while.

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**To be continued...**

**Yay for more randomness! So…yeah, this story was born when I got burned in the shower last night. Except, of course, I don't have a hot single neighbor in the unit upstairs. I don't have the slightest intention to have a shower with a family of three any time soon. *shudder***

**But seriously, my apartment manager needs to fucking FIX THIS SHIT.**


	2. Warm Milk

**Thank you guys for reading and reviewing the first chapter! I promise I'll reply asap! **

**By now you're probably going "waaaaiiiiit you said this is a PWP one-shot..." Yes, I meant for Shower to be a one-shot, I really did. But I can't seem to get it out of my head, and the longer I think, the more ideas I get. **

**So here it is...I'm turning Shower into a multi-chapter. It could probably use a better title, but I'm too lazy to think of something else.**

**This is actually another first for me: Writing a story solely based on my mood/muse and not according to a drafted outline. I have a general idea where I want it to go, but I don't have it nicely written down in bullet points (I do for my other stories). In fact, the ideas I have for this come in snippets, so I basically have to grab my phone whenever something strikes me out of the blue. I have bits of a dialog here, a paragraph there...it's weird. I've never had such an experience with a story before. Thank you in advance for bearing with me on this potentially bumpy ride.**

**This chapter is in Ichigo's POV, in case it's not obvious.**

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I peer at the man out of the corner of my eye. He's standing in front of the mirror, raking his fingers through his damp hair. It's beginning to dry, the navy blue locks gradually turning into a lighter, more vibrant hue.

I try not to act too nervous even though my heart's about to leap out of my throat. Can you blame me? I've been eyeing this guy for _months_, wondering how and when I can get to know him better.

As my ass throbs lightly, I can't help but smile wryly to myself. Oh, I've gotten to _know_ him better alright. My cheeks warm at the recollection. A part of me is ashamed of myself for sleeping with a random stranger, but a bigger part of me is whooping in joy.

I trudge out of the bathroom and enter the kitchen, where I open the door of the fridge and pretend to rummage around for something to eat. I'm not hungry at all, but I have to keep myself occupied. Inside, I'm trembling. It has been ten minutes since we "showered", and he's still here. I don't know if I should feel happy or disturbed. I'm kind of leaning towards the former.

"Do you want something to drink?" I call out, pleased when my voice came out steady. I sound confident, not at all like the nervous wreck that I am.

He doesn't reply, but two seconds later he walks out of the bathroom. I immediately freeze at the sight.

That fucker.

He's just standing there with a towel wrapped casually around his waist, his hair an unruly mess, yet he still manages to look like the sexiest man alive.

How is that fair? I can't look even half that good if I spend an hour in front of the mirror.

"Do you have milk?" he asks, looking at me with those glacial-blue eyes of his.

I blink dumbly as I process his question. "Milk?"

I guess I'm expecting him to say something really manly, like "beer", or "whisky". Definitely not _milk_.

He quirks his eyebrow and starts to walk towards me. "Yeah."

"Umm, yeah, I have milk," I try hard not to stutter as he pulls up next to me. Thank god for the fridge door that's covering his lower half. I don't know if I can _not_ look.

"Cool," he says, flashing me a bright smile.

His teeth are really white, I note absently as I take out the milk carton. I check the expiry date and breathe out a sigh of relief. It's still good. It'd be kind of embarrassing if he sees that I have expired shit in my fridge.

I grab a mug from the cabinet and fill it with full cream milk—no reduced fat crap for me, thank you very much, then I hand it to him.

"Do you mind warming it up for me?"

I blink again. Warm milk? Should I serve him cookies next?

His eyes narrow slightly. I can't tell if he's getting pissed or feeling curious.

"Yes, warm milk," he says firmly. "Is it that hard to understand?"

I purse my lips at his condescending tone, but I decide not to retort. I don't want to start an argument over such a petty thing, especially not when I'm still feeling the lingering high from the amazing sex we just had.

Still, I can't help but shove the cup of milk into the microwave with a little more force than necessary.

I sense him coming closer to stand right behind me. He's so near that I can feel his body heat.

"Are you mad?" he asks quietly. He doesn't sound apologetic, but I have a feeling that this is as close to an apology as I'm going to get.

I let out a soft "hmph" and refuse to turn around. My pride won't let me forgive him just like that.

The only response I get is a sigh next to my ear, then he moves away and pads into the living room. I hear the familiar squishing sound that indicates that he's sitting on my couch.

Guess he's not the kind who likes to kiss and make up.

For some reason, I feel a pang of disappointment. I immediately shake my head and laugh at myself. What the hell am I thinking? Just because we fucked doesn't mean we mean anything to each other.

The microwave beeps, and I retrieve the steaming mug. I stare at it, not particularly liking the idea of serving it to him. What am I now, his maid?

I sigh and remind myself that he's still my guest, even if I didn't invite him in.

"Here."

He lifts his head and takes the cup from me. He doesn't smile at first, but after he takes a sip, he lets out a satisfied "ahhh" and grins.

I excuse myself to change into my pajamas, then I make myself comfortable in the love seat.

He gives me a puzzled look, his eyes darting to the empty spot next to him.

I hesitate. His intention is clear, but I'm not sure what this means. After a few seconds, I give in and go over to the couch.

The minute I sit down, he clutches the hair at the back of my head and turns me around to face him. Before I can protest, his lips are on mine. I taste milk.

When his tongue pushes its way into my mouth, I can't stop the mewl that escapes from my throat. I've never been kissed so aggressively before. It's almost bordering on rude, the way he forcefully pries my lips apart, but I can't deny that it turns me on.

The little voice in my head berates me for letting a stranger molest me again. I go still for a second, debating whether I want to stop him. The thought shattered completely when his hand slips under my t-shirt.

Who am I kidding? I don't want him to stop, ever.

With a strong tug, he pulls me onto his lap, our teeth clashing in the process. I can feel him rubbing against me. He's hard.

"Grimmjow," I pant.

"Hmm?" he hums, then kisses the side of my neck. I jerk and hiss when his teeth graze my skin.

I don't know what I want to say. I guess I'd like us to talk about what happened before going for round two, but I think it's a little too late for that.

So I grind our cocks together instead. He growls, the sound eerily animalistic yet unbelievably arousing.

"I want to fuck you," he tells me gruffly.

"Okay," I reply.

I climb off his lap to take my pants off. He watches me, his eyes dark and shining with desire. I blush when he starts to stroke himself. His action looks disgustingly lewd, but it makes me want him more.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I jump back on and straddle his thighs. He grabs my ass and pulls me up, then without any warning, he yanks me down on his cock.

I'm loose from earlier, but it still hurts enough that I can't help but cry out in pain. I instinctively buck my hips to get off of him, but he holds my waist like a vice and forces me down.

"Ride me," he murmurs.

The command—oh it definitely isn't a polite request—breaks down my defenses, and I obediently comply. It's like my body refuses to listen to me anymore. I rise and fall on his lap just like he asks me to do, using his gravelly moans to guide my movement. I think he's going to leave two hand prints on my hips. He lets his head collapse back onto the sofa and looks up at me under his eyelashes. My blood sings when I see how much he wants me.

Once I get used to his girth, I let pleasure take over. I no longer feel the burn, the stretching, the slickness that hints that I might be bleeding. I grasp his shoulders and dig my nails into his skin. I want to leave my mark on him the way he's leaving his on me.

"Do you dream of this?" he asks, the sentence broken up by his pants.

I frown in confusion. "What?"

"This." He thrusts up and pushes himself deep inside me, reaching places that nobody has ever touched before.

After my scream subsides, I nod. It's true, I have pictured him taking me, countless times as I lie in bed at night. Alas, my imagination doesn't do this any justice.

"Oh yeah?" he whispers, a smirk appearing on his face. "Am I living up to your expectations?"

It's difficult to nod when I'm bouncing up and down, but I try. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I'm almost delirious, my mind is going numb, and I feel nothing except him.

My response seems to please him. He reaches between our bodies and wraps his hand around my cock, as if I am now somehow worthy of a reward. I should be embarrassed by the whimper that leaves my mouth, but I'm not. He matches my pace and pumps me with his fist. His palm is calloused and hot and big, and within seconds, I'm gone. Everything goes white for a moment, then when I'm aware of myself again, I realize that I'm sprawled bonelessly on his chest.

He keeps going for a while. I try to help him along, but my movements are clumsy and slow. I'm so fucking tired. I feel his breath against my neck, then all of a sudden he bites down. I hear him grunt through gritted teeth, and at the same time he floods my insides. I use the back of my hand to muffle my cry. I think he bit through my skin.

He starts to stroke my hair and place soft kisses on my cheek. It's a little weird. This is like that almost-intimate moment in the shower earlier, when he had washed me. It's hard to believe that this is the same man who just fucked me like an animal. Maybe he's bipolar.

We stay on the couch until I can't stand the stickiness on my stomach anymore. I slide off his lap and sit down next to him. I rest for a couple of minutes until I'm sure that I can stand up properly.

"You doing okay?" he asks.

I glance at him. "Yeah, I'm good," I reply. I'm kind of sore, and I'll probably have a limp tomorrow, but he doesn't need to know that.

He grins and runs his fingers through my hair again. "You wanna take a shower?"

I nod. I really don't want to because I'm so sleepy, but I can't possibly go to bed like this. I assume he's coming to the bathroom with me since he asked, so I'm surprised when he grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist.

"I'm gonna head back," he says.

I'm shocked by the disappointment that hits me when I hear that. What do I expect? That he would stay and we'd cuddle through the night? I instantly feel stupid.

"Sure," I mutter.

I walk him to the door, where he caresses my cheek before leaving. I shut the door and lean my back against it to collect my thoughts. My face remains warm and tingly where he has just touched.

What the fuck just happened?

I walk into the bathroom in a daze. I stop abruptly in front of the mirror when I catch the bite mark in my reflection.

_Holy crap_.

I don't know how I'm going to hide this. Fuck! I can't go to work with a massive hickey—is it even considered a hickey if it looks like I got mauled?—on my neck. Urahara will kill me.

Oh, don't get me wrong. He won't _kill_ me per se, but he'll laugh so hard that I'll die of shame. Not to mention, that idiot Renji will probably spread the news to the whole town by noon tomorrow.

I drown my worries in the shower. I don't hear anything downstairs. Either Grimmjow has simply gone to bed like that—_yuck_—or he has finished showering already. Unlikely, but then again I think I spent a long time staring at myself in the mirror and fretting about that damn mark he left behind.

By the time I crawl into bed I'm close to passing out from fatigue. I haven't had sex for almost a full year. This is like starting off on a fucking Black Diamond after not skiing for five years.

Then I remember why I haven't slept with anyone for so long, and I feel a twinge of sadness. I remind myself that Orihime deserves someone better than me. Last I heard, she has found someone who adores her. It doesn't stop me from feeling guilty, though. Nobody deserves to be the one who makes their partner realize that he's actually gay. I know I broke her heart the day I told her.

I grab my phone from the nightstand and set my alarm for eight a.m., then I pull my blanket up to my chin and close my eyes.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**A word of warning: This story is going to have heavy doses of angst. That, and HEAPS of lemon. Yeah. Like, a lot of it.**

**So...umm...if you didn't like this addition, chapter 1 technically can still stand alone as a one-shot. :) **

**Oh, and happy holidays everyone! :D **


	3. Green and White

**Yay for another chapter! You know what…I wonder if I can manage one lemon per chapter. Is that even possible? :P That would be another first for me! No promises, though. ;)**

* * *

I haven't had such a good night's sleep for years. I wake up right as my alarm goes off, and I slam my fist into my clock to shut it up.

The bed creaks as I sit up and swing my legs over the edge. I arch my back and stretch, hearing the satisfying sounds of my joints popping. I feel invigorated, alert, more alive than I've felt in a long time.

It's all thanks to the kid upstairs. What's his name again? Ichi-something. Ah, that's right. Ichigo. His innocent boyish looks is fucking misleading; he's a firecracker once he's turned on. My shoulders are sore where he squeezed it last night. I look in the mirror and notice the light bruises that have formed there overnight.

I'm sure this is nothing compared to the bite mark that _I_ left behind. I chuckle in glee as I imagine him cussing at me when he sees it.

Then my mood sours when I suddenly remember why I'm here in my own apartment, alone. Before I know it, anger is bubbling in my chest and there's a new crack in the wall next to my bathroom mirror. I rub my knuckles to check if anything's broken.

I really need to get a grip. I don't understand why I just don't learn.

My boxers drop to the floor in a messy heap and I jump into the shower for a quick one. I kind of regret hitting the bed all sweaty and shit last night, but damn I had been tired to the bones then. I think I've unloaded three months' worth of sexual frustration onto the poor kid. I wonder if he can walk today.

After I'm dressed and presentable, I stop at my fridge briefly to grab a small cube-shaped box of milk. You know, the kind that's short and stumpy and contains about two mouthfuls of that miracle liquid. Whole milk, none of that non-fat shit that tastes like contaminated water.

Hmm, speaking of which, I think Ichigo served me full cream milk last night. Looks like he and I have more in common than peach-scented body wash and the knack for fucking complete strangers.

I pick up my car keys and open my door, balancing the keys, the milk carton, my work boots, and my jacket in both hands. I take the rickety elevator down to the garage and go to my car—my brand spanking new BMW M6 convertible. If there's anything left in my life that's worth loving, it's this baby. If you've been wondering why I'm carrying my work boots instead of wearing it, now you know why.

My boys Nnoitra and Ilforte think I'm nuts to spend so much money on a car when I live in such a crappy neighborhood, but they don't understand. A car keeps your warm and comfortable and takes you places, it loves you back unconditionally and doesn't betray you, and I don't have to pick its shit up after it when I take it out for a walk. What else can I ask for?

The engine roars to life and I peel out of the garage.

Half an hour later, I arrive at Cero Constructions. It's a small place, almost like a shack, but it's my sweat and blood. Well, _our_ sweat and blood, since the three of us own it. "Constructions" is a big word, but in truth we mostly do kitchens, flooring, patios and the occasional landscaping.

The minute I step out of the car, I hear Nnoitra's mad cackle coming out from the office, followed by Ilforte's voice.

"I don't believe you," Ilforte is saying.

I snort out loud and kick the front door open to announce my arrival. "What'd the idiot say this time?"

Nnoitra glares at me with his one good eye. "What would _you_ know about big titties you damn faggot!" he snarls.

I let out a bark of laughter right as he breaks into a grin, while Ilforte just shakes his head. That pretty much sums up our interaction. That's Nnoitra's way of showing his "brotherly love", which doesn't bother me the least. Now that I think about it, Ilforte is the only real grownup in the gang.

"What do you have there?" I peer over Ilforte's shoulder and catch an eyeful of two big sacks of flesh. "The fuck?"

"This," Ilforte sighs. "Is apparently Nnoi's latest conquest."

I shiver as I picture Nnoitra getting squashed by those. I rip the top of the milk carton open and pour the content out in a chipped mug, then I stick it into the microwave that we have in our kitchenette.

"He claims that they're real," Ilforte continues, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"No fucking way," I say immediately.

Nnoitra bangs his fists on the table in exasperation. "I had them in my fucking _face_! They're soft and squishy and—"

I tune him out like I always do when he starts rambling. I catch a baleful expression on Ilforte's face and feel sorry for the guy. Ah, Ilforte, always the good friend. I empty the cup of milk in two big gulps and watch him fiddle with his long blond hair as he listens to Nnoitra's rant. I swear, he's the only one I've seen who can pull off this hairstyle and not look gay. Legolas has nothing on him.

I finish washing my mug and settle into the chair in front of our work computer. I go through the list of orders that we have. We don't have any that are in-progress, which is rare and a damn good thing. I need a change of scenery.

"Hard wood flooring for convenience store on Hollow St," I read aloud. "When'd this come in?"

"This morning before you dragged your sorry ass in," Nnoitra replies helpfully as he starts to take stock of the tools that we will need for a first-time visit.

I pick up the phone and dial the number listed on the order form. A cheery voice answers, and I quickly work out an appointment for us to evaluate the scope of work that needs to be done.

Two hours later, we're standing in front of the weirdest-looking store front I've ever seen in my entire life. And by weird, I mean fucking ugly. The awning is a sheet of plastic with garish green and white stripes, the exterior of the shop is the same shade of green and white, and the door is dark green.

I swear I will kill somebody if the walls and floor in there are green too.

Luckily for our client, the interior of the shop is relatively acceptable. The floor is carpeted, the walls a muted beige. Rows of lacquer-finished wooden cabinets fill up most of the space.

The first thought that crosses my mind is that it's going to be a bitch to clear out this room for us to work on the floor.

"Can I help ya?"

I look in the direction of the voice. A redhead, his hair tied up in a high ponytail, waves to us from behind the counter.

"We're here to see yer boss," Nnoitra says, looking bored already.

I snicker at the way he just straight up assumes that this kid isn't the boss. I'd be pretty damn pissed off if I were the redhead, but the man just grins good-naturedly and hollers, "Geta-boshi!"

I have no idea what he just said, but two seconds later an older man with shaggy blond hair appears from another door. He looks a bit confused at first, then he takes in our work boots and gloves and his eyes brighten.

"Ah! You are early!" he exclaims.

I recognize the singsong voice that I have just endured this morning.

"Yeah, so is this the room you're looking to redo?" I ask.

The man nods. "Yep! How much will it cost?"

With that, we get down to business. Nnoitra breaks out the measuring tools and Ilforte shows the shopkeeper some sample wood pieces. I walk along the walls and examine the carpet to see how much work it's going to take to rip it all up.

Everything is going great until the front door opens and someone walks in with handfuls of plastic bags.

"Food's back! I—"

I turn my head so fast that my neck pops.

Standing there, with one leg still extended to hold the door open, is Ichigo. He looks stupid with his mouth hanging open, but the blush that's spreading across his cheeks is cute enough to make up for it.

"What're you doing here?" he blurts.

I straighten up and flash him a lecherous grin. "How are you?" I ask casually.

The kid opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

"My my, you two know each other?" the blonde dude interrupts. "Does that mean I get a special rate? Friend of friend discount maybe?"

I ignore the idiot.

"How's your...back?" I push, loving the bright pink stain that's practically eating up the kid's face.

His widened eyes tell me that he knows just which body part I'm really asking about.

"It's fine," he croaks. Then his eyes harden a bit and he repeats his question, "What are you doing here?"

"Your boss wants to redo the floor," I reply and jab my thumb in the direction of the shopkeeper.

Ichigo's eyes dart from his boss—I assume, me, the floor, Nnoitra, and Ilforte.

"Oh," he says finally.

Is it just me, or does he sound disappointed?

I open my mouth to embarrass him further, but this time I'm interrupted by the redhead, who has left the counter and is now walking towards Ichigo with a curious expression.

"So how'd you guys know each other?"

Ichigo looks between me and the redhead and goes even redder. Seriously, if he keeps this up he's going to start bleeding from his ears.

"He's my…neighbor," he mutters.

The redhead's eyebrows arch sky-high and his mouth turns into a comical "O", but before he says anything, Ichigo elbows him in the ribs.

I can feel Nnoitra and Ilforte's eyes boring into my skull from behind, so I clear my throat and introduce my innocent little neighbor to them. Nnoitra looks at me pointedly, and I know that I'll be getting the third degree from him later.

That's fine with me. The idiot's not the only one who likes to flaunt his conquests. Ichigo may not have a set of tits but he sure has a strong set of lungs, not to mention the tightest little—

Shit. I have to stop thinking about this before I get a boner in front of everyone. I clear my throat again and excuse myself so that I can continue inspecting the carpet. As I crouch down, I sneak a glance at Ichigo and see him unpacking the take-out that he brought back. The strong aroma of Thai food assaults my nostrils and my stomach growls.

Right on cue, the blonde shopkeeper calls out, "Are you guys hungry? We have extra food if you're interested."

Nnoitra is at the counter in a flash, while Ilforte and I stroll up there a minute later. I'm hungry, but I don't want to seem desperate, you know? As I sit down on one of the tall stools, Blondie pushes a box towards me, and I open it.

"Pad thai," he tells me.

I grab a fork and dig in. As obscene slurps and chewing noises pick up around me, I look up to see who the pig is. Across from me, Ichigo does the same, and our eyes meet.

I'm captivated by his eyes. I don't understand why I'm drawn to them so much. I mean, he has brown eyes, as does eighty percent of the people in this country. There's just _something_ in there that sucks me in, although I haven't the slightest clue what the fuck it is. I don't know what's going through his mind, but he looks like he's just as stuck as I am. He's staring at me, not blinking even once.

I wonder if he's thinking about last night, because I sure as hell am.

Finally, he blinks and lowers his head to look at his food. I watch him as he takes in a mouthful of noodles using a pair of chopsticks. His eyelashes flutter as he closes his eyes briefly, then with a soft slurping sound, he slowly sucks the rest of the noodles into his mouth.

I think my eyes are bulging out of their sockets.

I grip my fork tighter as he continues to reel in the noodles with his tongue and hollowed cheeks. My eyes follow the food as it slides inside between his lips, bit by tiny bit, and then it's gone and I'm left staring at a pair of pink, supple lips that are shining with grease.

He's playing me. He fucking _knows_ that I'm watching him.

I stare and stare at him until he lifts his head. He catches my gaze and smiles knowingly.

The little tease!

I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my take-out box in the process. Everyone turns to look at me, including Ichigo. He looks a little nervous.

"Need to use the restroom," I announce calmly.

The redhead shows me the way, and I shut the door as soon as I'm inside. I gasp against the sink, trying to get the image of Ichigo and his greasy lips and his _sucking_ out of my head. A few seconds later, I know I can't win this battle. I unzip my pants and release my throbbing cock. I'm about to start taking care of it when someone knocks on the door.

"It's me," Ichigo's voice whispers. "Are you okay?"

Am I _okay_?

I open the door and yank the kid inside before he can even squeak.

"What are you doing?" he asks frantically.

I glare at him and show him what I have in my fist. "What do you think? You can't do _that_ and expect me not to do…_this_!"

He lets out a groan like he's exasperated, but his groan turns into a surprised yelp when I grab his crotch. He's half hard.

That's all I need to know. I clutch a fistful of his hair and pull him close so that our lips touch.

"You want this as much as I do, you slut," I tell him, then I kiss him.

He moans softly into my mouth.

We must both be crazy to do this here when so many people are out there, obviously waiting for us to go back. But I'm not exactly known for being cautious or modest, and Ichigo looks like his brain has shut down.

I know we'll have to be quick if we want to actually get off before we're caught, so I start unbuckling his jeans. I push it down just far enough for me to access his cock, then I press myself against him. He stumbles back and hits the wall next to the sink.

"You're still sore, aren't you?" I murmur into his ear as I close my hand over both our cocks.

His response is a whine, which he tries to muffle by biting his lip. I lean in and bite his earlobe, and I repeat the question in a lower, more dangerous tone.

"Y-yes," he pants.

Hearing him admit to that is so hot that I close my eyes and groan against his neck. He flinches, and I pull back to see the souvenir I left on him last night. The dark red mark looks painful, so I lean back in and slowly lick it. He shivers as soon as my tongue touches his neck. That just makes me want to lick him even more.

The entire time, my hand doesn't stop. We're both rock hard and aching for release, and I can feel it coming. Just a few more pumps, a few more…

I'm caught by surprise when Ichigo suddenly grunts and bucks into my fist. His seed coats the hem of my shirt and drips onto my hand.

"Shit," I grit out. The way he's trembling against me is driving me nuts.

Then his hand joins mine to help finish me off. His fingers are thin and long, unlike mine. Maybe it's the fact that they're so shockingly different that pushes me over, because not five seconds later, something snaps in my belly and I spill myself all over our hands. I continue to rock my hips, my body still pressing into his, until the last tremor of my climax subsides.

"Crap, they're going to wonder where we are," he whispers fiercely and tugs his pants back up.

"Relax," I say. I wash my hands thoroughly to get rid of our combined scent. "Just tell them that the toilet got stuck and you were helping me with it."

He stares at me, his eyebrows half-raised in a funny way as though he's evaluating if I'm being serious.

"I'm sure you can think of something," I assure him.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Note: In case you're not a Lord of The Rings fan, the "Legolas" I referred to is the elf in the fellowship. As for the percentage of people with brown eyes in "this country", it's just a number I cooked up. ;)**

**So…I know, **_**some**_** hints but no answers. ;) I wanted to let you all speculate, and hopefully when I reveal the answer it will still be a surprise. :) **


	4. Pizza Sauce

**One last update for this story before ushering in 2013! I don't think I'll have time to post the next one within the next two days. I'll be traveling starting this coming Friday, so updates will be suspended till the second half of January. **

**In the meantime, let's read this one! :)**

* * *

"The toilet got stuck and I was helping him with it."

Somehow, I don't think anyone believes me.

It's not helping that Grimmjow is snickering behind his hand. Not helping at all.

To my surprise, it's Geta-boshi who comes to my rescue. "Ah, I knew the toilet has issues," Urahara says, nodding gravely. "Thank you very much, Ichigo, for being so helpful to our guest."

Okay, this is definitely not a rescue. I'm not sure if I want to bury my head in the ground or give Urahara a punch in the face.

I go back to my high stool and quickly wolf down the rest of my lunch. I can still taste Grimmjow's Pad Thai on my tongue, it's kind of ruining the Pad See Ew that I'm having.

I really didn't expect the whole restroom incident to happen_. _Seriously, I just thought that it'd be funny if I taunt him a little, you know? I knew he was staring at me. I must've gone overboard, if his reaction is any indication.

Hell, I wasn't expecting to see him here in the first place. What are the chances of Geta-boshi hiring Grimmjow's company to redo his floor? One in a million? I thought he's here to see me or something, at first. Stupid of me.

When everyone's done, I take it upon myself to clean up after them. Grimmjow and his crew move back into the front of the shop, and Geta-boshi walks with them to talk about business details.

Even from the distance, I can still identify Grimmjow's voice in the discussion. I can't make out the words, but the deep, slightly nasally voice registers in my head, and my perverted mind takes the liberty of reminding me about what that voice has said to me in the past twenty four hours.

"So...the toilet got stuck, huh?"

I drop the plastic bag filled with empty take-out boxes on the floor in surprise. Cussing, I crouch down to pick up the mess.

"Shut it, Renji," I warn.

Of course, Renji doesn't shut up. "So...is he the guy you were telling me about?" he asks.

I shoot him a glare, and he breaks into a shit-eating grin.

I have nobody but myself to blame for this one. Yes, unfortunately, I did make the mistake of telling the idiot about my crush on Grimmjow. I mean, how am I supposed to know that this will happen? At the time, Grimmjow was nothing but a smoking hot stranger whom I admired from afar. He's this unreachable object, high up there with other magical things like stars and the moon and angels and shit.

How'd I know that I'll end up pissing him off so badly by taking a goddamn shower?

My silence does not deter Renji, and he walks with me as I take out the trash through the back door. I sigh loudly in exasperation, but he just continues to look at me expectantly.

"Come on, man, details, _details_!" Renji urges.

I rub my temples to soothe the ticking vein there. Then I turn to my best friend and find myself staring into a pair of large puppy eyes.

"Fuck you, Renji," I groan.

I know he's my best friend and all, but boy am I tempted to knee him in the crotch right now. He knows the power of his sad puppy eyes, and he abuses it all the time. I've known Renji since kindergarten, he knows that I can never say no when he looks at me like that.

Bastard.

I peer over my shoulder to make sure that we're still alone in the back lane next to the dumpster. Not the ideal place to talk about the greatest sex I've ever had in my life, but it'll have to do. I tell Renji about how Grimmjow had stormed up to my apartment last night.

Renji's eyes grow larger and larger.

I skip most of the gory details, of course, but I think he got the gist of what kind of lover Grimmjow is.

"This is like your wet dream come true!" he gushes.

I roll my eyes and feel a smirk creep onto my face. Any minute now, he's going to give me a high five and congratulate me for scoring the piece of ass I've been lusting after for so long.

Then, Renji surprises me by stating quietly, "I don't like this."

"Why?" I blurt.

"He called you a slut," he says, his face serious. He brings up his hands and starts to tick off all the things he doesn't like. "He hurt you, he's too aggressive, and he doesn't give a damn about how you feel."

My cheeks start to burn.

"It's just dirty talk," I try to explain. "And I don't mind it...rough...now and then..." I trail off, feeling embarrassed talking to Renji about my preference in bed.

"Is it really?"

I look at Renji's skeptical face. I think about what Grimmjow has said to me, then I remember how tenderly he had washed me and kissed my cheek after sex. "Yes," I say.

Renji still looks unconvinced. It's funny how he's already thinking about what kind of partner Grimmjow is when I never said anything about being with the guy at all. As far as I know, he's only interested in sleeping with me.

"We're not dating, you know," I remind Renji.

"So you're just sleeping around?" Renji asks, his eyebrows arching so high that they disappear behind his bandana. "It's not like you, Ichigo. Not like you at all."

I swallow around the uncomfortable lump in my throat. Low blow, Renji.

"I know you're eager to experiment and you like him," he continues. I don't think he knows that I'm not smiling anymore. "But at least find someone who'll give you some respect."

I bite the inside of my cheeks. _Way to throw a bucket of cold water over my head, Renji_, I think in my head. After a second, I repeat that out loud for his benefit.

He looks a little hurt, and I immediately feel bad. I know he's only looking out for me.

"I don't know him well enough yet," I tell him, softening my voice to let him know that I'm not really mad at him.

Renji looks down at his feet.

I can't stand it when he's upset because of me. "Come on," I slap his arm and grin at him. "I can take care of myself. If I don't like what I see, I'll stop."

He lifts his head and searches my face. I widen my grin and nod. After a while, he sighs and punches me back on my arm. "Fine," he says. "Just don't make me say 'I told you so'."

We head back into the shop to find that the construction crew has left. Urahara tells us that the flooring work will start the day after tomorrow, so we have the rest of today and tomorrow to clear out the store.

Renji and I stare at each other and groan.

By the time I drag my sorry ass home, it's already past nine o'clock at night. Manual labor is tough, I don't know how Renji does it.

You see, I'm not your average convenience store clerk. I don't go to work every day to restock and man the register and talk to customers. In fact, most days I don't see customers at all. At least, not face-to-face.

Urahara may look like an idiot, but he's far from one. This brick and mortar store is only part of his revenue, the other part is his online business. That's where I come in. One of the first things I did when I started working for Urahara was to create an electronic stocking system for him. His shop is small, but he sells all sorts of shit, including things that I don't think anyone ever buys.

Then I created a website for his store. We provide online shopping, and we either ship to the customers or deliver them in person. Of course, delivery comes with a premium and only applies to orders within a reasonable radius from the shop. Guess who's the delivery boy? Hint: it's not me.

So that's my day-to-day job. I sit in the office, maintain the stock database, update the website when necessary, and take care of the orders that come in. It gets boring sometimes, but it's still miles better than manning the register.

Today, though, I'm forced to do manual labor because we need the space to be empty for Grimm—I mean, the construction crew, in two days. Between Renji and I, we've managed to pack away close to five of those massive shelves into boxes. Only fifteen more to go. I'm seriously thinking of calling in sick tomorrow.

As I enter the lobby of my apartment complex, I decide to swing by the mailbox to get my stuff.

You know that saying, "it's a small world"?

All I need is a glimpse of his hair to know who's also getting his mail. My heart jumps into my throat immediately. Inside, Renji's warning clashes violently with my raging hormones.

Renji's right. I'm not the type who "sleeps around". I've never been one to place lust before love. I've experimented a bit after breaking up with Orihime, but the furthest I've gone was kissing. I'm a firm believer that sex can only be great when it's between two people who are in love.

Well, I _was_.

I stand some distance behind Grimmjow as he rummages through his mailbox. Then he drops one of the envelopes.

I clench my jaw to keep my mouth from falling open. His ass looks absolutely delectable in those old, washed out jeans. Unfortunately, I must've made a noise somehow, because the next minute, I see him peering at me over his shoulder.

"Hi," I say, clutching my keys tightly behind my back. "Getting your mail?"

He pulls himself to his full height and grins at me. "Enjoyed the view?" he asks with a wink.

I feel blood rush to my face. Shit. Caught red-handed.

"Aww," he coos.

He walks up to me and eyes me up and down. I struggle not to flee under his hungry gaze. He's not even _doing_ anything, yet I'm already feeling a familiar heat coiling in my stomach.

I need to get a grip. I take a deep breath, then I puff out my chest to appear more confident.

"You wanna have dinner with me?" he asks.

Only then do I notice the Pizza Hut box in his hand. I act cool and reply like I don't really care. "Sure."

The corners of his eyes crease as he laughs heartily. "Cool. Go get your mail and meet me at my place," he chuckles.

With that, he turns around and heads for the elevator. I stare after him, my stomach and chest constricting with excitement. I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I've completely forgotten why I'm standing here in the first place.

Fifteen minutes later, I show up at his front door.

Grimmjow's teeth nearly blinds me with their whiteness when he greets me. I try not to gape, but it's hard to remain expressionless when the man's wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, especially when the boxers are so low on his hips that I can see the light blue trail that leads down from below his belly button.

I follow him into his living room and take a seat on his couch. He has the TV on, tuned to the sports channel. He plops down on the floor and lets out a cheer as some guy gets tackled on the screen. I haven't the slightest clue what's going on, I just see a lot of men in tight uniforms and helmets throwing themselves on top of each other. Is this his idea of hinting what he has in mind for me later?

I feel my stomach cramp at the prospect. Seriously, I need to get a grip. I'm never this horny. What the fuck is wrong with me?

If Grimmjow notices my discomfort, he doesn't comment on it. He hands me a paper plate, and I dump two slices of Hawaiian Special pizza on it.

I chew slowly, not really tasting the food. I'm distracted by his obnoxiously loud yells and his proximity. His head is resting against the seat of the couch barely one foot away from me. If I spread my legs a little wider, my knee would hit his temple.

Wait, why am I thinking about spreading my legs?

I rub my face to wake myself up, only to realize the hard way that I have pizza sauce on my fingers.

"Fuck!" I scream.

Grimmjow's up on his feet before I can count to two. "What's wrong?" he asks as I dance around with the heel of my palm pressed against my eye.

I ignore his question and rush for the kitchen sink. I scrub my hands to get rid of the sauce and then rinse my eye out. It seriously, seriously, seriously, hurts like a bitch. I swear I'm not being a pansy.

When I finally recover and tell him what happened, his first reaction is to bite his lip. His nostrils flare and I see his eyes twitch uncontrollably.

"Fine, laugh," I huff, leaning back against the sink while water trickles down my face.

And he does, clutching his stomach and howling like hurting my eye is the most amusing thing in the world.

I turn away and sulk. I'm not hungry anymore. I hate pizza.

Then I feel a presence around me and I look up to see that he's right in front of me. He has his arms at my sides, his palms resting against the side of the kitchen counter. My face becomes hot at once.

He doesn't say anything. He has stopped laughing, and is now staring straight into my eyes, not blinking, just staring, staring... I don't know what's going on inside his head. I try to maintain eye contact, but in the end I cave and close my eyes.

The next thing I feel is his lips on my eyelid, the one that's still smarting. I flinch by reflex, but his body presses up against me and keeps me trapped between him and the counter. His lips feel warm and soft against my skin. I can feel his breath on my forehead.

After what seems like minutes, he pulls away and holds the sides of my face. He peers into my injured eye. "Does it still hurt?" he asks.

I feel my heart flutter. He actually sounds like he cares.

Take that, Renji!

"A little bit," I mumble.

To my surprise, he leans in and places another peck on my eyelid. I think my heart skipped a beat there. Or two. He's making me really confused.

Then he angles his head and moves his lips down to my mouth, and I say goodbye to my common sense.

I let him dominate the kiss. It's not that I like giving up control, it's just that he's a much better kisser than me.

His hands leave my face and slide down my torso, his nails scraping my skin through my t-shirt. He doesn't stop until he reaches the waistband of my jeans.

I don't know why, but I feel naked even though he's the one who's wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else. I think it's the predatory gaze he's fixing on me.

Something tells me that he's done being gentle.

I hiss in surprise when he tugs on my lower lip with his teeth. The sting sends my pulse racing, and my stomach twists itself into a knot.

His breath is fast and ragged next to my ear, but every word he utters is crystal clear, "What does my little slut want me to do to him?"

I should be disgusted, horrified, mad, but I feel none of those. All I feel is a tremor of arousal.

"I want you to…take me," I whisper. I blush fiercely when I hear the neediness in my own voice.

"How do you want me?" he asks.

I'm struggling to breathe, but it's hard to do that when he's licking the shell of my ear. When I don't reply, he sinks his teeth into my earlobe.

"How?" he repeats huskily, sending another shiver through my body.

I feel like I've become hyper-sensitive all of a sudden. Every flick of his tongue, every breath on my skin, every touch…they're like tiny little shocks of electricity. They feed my blood and it boils and boils and flows down to pool between my legs. My pants are getting tighter by the second.

"How?" he demands. He's starting to sound angry. "Tell me, or I won't let you come."

A whimper slips out before I can stop myself. God, how does he do this to me? These things he's saying…

When he speaks again, his voice has lowered an octave and drips with malice. "I'm going to make you scream, I'm going to make you want to come so bad that you'll beg for it...but you know what? I won't let you, if you don't tell me—"

I snap. I can't take it anymore. My mind is conjuring up images of what he's going to do to me and it's driving me crazy.

"Behind," I gasp.

Before I can take another breath, I'm suddenly spun around and crushed into the kitchen counter. The edge of the counter digs into my stomach, and I yelp in pain and shock.

He starts cackling, his laughter deep and raspy. Fear grows in my gut, but at the same time I feel an inexplicable rush of desire.

Shit. I think I'm a closet masochist.

He yanks me back by my hair, and as I struggle, his fingers starts to tug at my zipper.

The thought of being taken against the kitchen sink is extremely unattractive.

"Stop! Not here!" I cry out as my legs are forcefully kicked apart.

I hear a frustrated growl behind me, then the grip on my hair tightens. Fuck, if he pulls my hair any harder, I'm going to get a bald spot.

"Where?" he rumbles.

"Your bed?" I suggest with a wince.

As soon as I say that, I feel him stiffen and fall silent.

What? Did I do something wrong?

I'm only given two seconds to wonder about his odd reaction. Without giving me any warning, he scoops me up and I suddenly find myself being carried bridal style towards his bedroom. I squirm, demanding to be let down, but he acts like he doesn't hear me.

We reach his bed, and he drops me like a sack of potatoes. I bounce on the mattress, my breath forced out of my lungs with each impact. My fly is open and my pants is hanging off my hips because of the short struggle, and he wastes no time in yanking it off completely.

I stare at him, openly ogling as he strips out of his boxers. He really is the most perfect man I've ever seen. Every plane and curve on his body is stunning. There is not an ounce of extra fat on him, I can easily see the ridges of his well-defined abdominal muscles and prominent hip bones. And then right there, between his thighs, his cock stands proudly erect. I feel like I'm looking at a marble sculpture that has come alive.

He crawls onto the foot of the bed and approaches me. His irises seem to have become even more intensely blue. I feel hopelessly trapped in his gaze. I can only sit there on my ass, shivering in anticipation as he stalks closer like a jungle cat out for a hunt.

He's a predator, and I'm the Chef's special.

He knocks me onto my back and flips me over so quickly that I don't even have time to make a sound. I lie panting on my stomach, momentarily dazed, then I'm lifted onto my knees unceremoniously.

His idea of preparation is two saliva-covered fingers. I grunt and prop myself up on my palms. The angle change eases the ache slightly, then he's thrusting in and out of me, hard and fast, not giving me any time to adjust to the invasion.

I love every minute of it.

I push back against him and feel his fingers slide in even deeper. The burning ache flares anew and I let out a choking sob. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand immediately, mortified that I'm capable of making such unmanly sounds.

"Yeah, cry for me you slut," he growls.

Even in the heat of the moment, I feel myself blush. I really must be one, because the insult just heightens my need for him.

"Grimm," I moan. "Hurry."

He chuckles. "Tch, so impatient," he chides, then his fingers leave me and I feel the bed dip as he moves to kneel behind me.

Obviously I'm not the only one feeling impatient. Without so much as a word of warning, he enters me with one forceful stroke, his grip on my hips the only thing that stops me from being shoved face-first into the mattress.

I think I screamed. I'm not sure. All I know is that my whole body instantly feel as though it's on fire. It hurts, but it hurts so good that I don't want it to stop. Does it make sense? I think I can't tell the difference between pain and pleasure anymore.

After the first few seconds, my hands give out under me and I slump down onto my elbows. I bury my face against my folded arms to muffle my cries, but it's nearly impossible because my body's swaying so much.

"Do you like being fucked like an animal, Ichi? Huh? I think you do. You're moaning like a whore."

I bite my lip and force myself to swallow the pitiful moan that wants to erupt from my throat. No, I shouldn't be getting off from this. This is so wrong, so fucking degrading!

But...fuck my life, all I want to say back is "yes".

Luckily for me, Grimmjow doesn't seem to expect a response from me. He just goes on, going faster and deeper, until there's nowhere left for him to go.

By then I've become incoherent. All I can do is clench my eyes shut and sob in ecstasy. I've never had my senses stretched to such an extreme before. I think my body doesn't know how to react to it.

The tight coil of heat that has been building deep inside me is reaching its snapping point, I can feel it coming. Then, right as it's about to hit me, something squeezes around the base of my cock. _Hard_.

I nearly burst into tears.

"Beg for it, slut," he taunts me from behind.

I grit my teeth and shake my head. I can't. I can't do it. I won't stoop so low.

He pulls out slowly, leaving me suddenly empty and cold. I clench around him, not wanting him to leave me. I can barely feel him.

"No," I shake my head and moan.

He chuckles quietly. The sound brings goosebumps to my skin. Then, as if that's not bad enough, he runs his nails down my back and strokes my cock teasingly, just enough to let me feel it but not hard enough to give me any pleasure.

It's torture, plain and simple.

"Grimm," I choke out. I try to relieve myself with my hand, but he grabs my wrists and pins them behind my back. I'm left with my shoulders and head as the only means of support for my upper body. I grunt in discomfort. My shoulders are starting to ache.

Just as slowly, he sheathes himself in me. This time I can't hold back. I let out a stream of embarrassing noises. My cheeks become hotter and hotter. I realize with horror that I'm beginning to entertain the idea of _begging_.

"Nooo…" I groan, more to myself than to Grimmjow. "I…can't."

"You can't what?" he asks mockingly.

I want to be mad, I really do. I want to scream at him and tell him to fuck off. But I can't.

He pulls out again, his pace excruciatingly slow. Every tiny bit of movement is amplified because that's the only stimulation I'm getting.

No. I won't beg.

I won't.

He presses back in.

"Please!" I cry out desperately. I want more, all of him, every bit of him that I can get, but I'm held in place and I can't move except thrash around from side to side. "Please!"

He lets out a groan. "Please what?" he asks thickly. "Say it. What do you want?"

"Please! I want you inside of me! Please!"

I'm begging. Deep down, I feel my dignity crack a little, but when he abruptly shoves himself into me, I forget everything. It doesn't matter, I'm getting what I want. I don't care what I have to give to get it.

I don't fucking care.

"Touch me!" I scream at him.

_Finally_, he finally lets go of my arms, and I push myself up shakily onto my elbows once more. He closes his fist around my cock, and I lose it. I've never come so hard in my life. Never. It feels like it will never end. I shout his name. My body feels weaker and weaker, then when the final drop leaves me, I slump down onto the bed, right into the mess that I just made on his sheets.

"Slut," I hear him growl, then he thrusts back in one last time before he fills me with his release. He doesn't say my name. He just grunts; a primal sound deep from the back of his throat.

I roll to the side to give him space to lie down next to me, but he doesn't do it. I watch him numbly as he pulls away from me and starts to clean himself with the pair of boxers that he tossed aside earlier.

Then, he leaves. He just walks out of his room without a word, and I'm left lying on his bed, stunned and humiliated.

God, I've never felt so humiliated in my life. It's like getting punched right in the gut.

I give myself some time to recover my breath, then I stand up. I nearly trip over my own feet, but I manage to hold myself upright by pressing my palm against the wall. I dress myself in silence. My stomach hurts. I think I'm going to throw up.

He's out on the balcony when I step into the living room. He's wearing the same pair of boxers from what I can see. Gross.

I thought he's just going to stand there and wait for me to leave his apartment, but he surprises me by turning around and walking back into the living room. I stare at him warily, not knowing what to think. He's too unpredictable. I can't tell what's going on inside his head.

His brows are furrowed, and he's holding a lit cigarette in his right hand. "You okay?" he asks my feet gruffly.

I consider not answering, but in the end I do anyway. "I'm fine."

He lifts his head and finally meets my eyes. He looks like he wants to puke too.

In fact, he looks so miserable that my anger ebbs slightly even though I don't want it to. I have every right to be furious at him after what happened, don't I? Then I remember what I told Renji just hours ago. It's just dirty talk. Rough sex. Orgasm denial. I've read about these. People do it all the time. They're…normal.

But do I like it?

I don't know. My body obviously does, but my head—my pride—is not so sure.

I realize that I've been staring at him for at least two minutes now, so I force myself to look away. It's stupid of me to feel upset, since, you know, we're…nothing. But I can't help it. I _am_ upset.

"C'mere," he says.

My legs move on their own, and I find myself crushed against his chest. He presses his cheek against my hair. My arms are trapped at my sides because he has his around me. His bare chest is kind of sweaty, but it's oddly comforting.

I smile. This is much better.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**4 chapters, 4 lemons so far, yeah! Can I meet my own challenge?**

**On a completely unrelated note, I bought 6 Copic markers yesterday, which is what Kubo uses to color his drawings. It's the first time I'm using it, so I got just enough colors to draw Ichigo. Previously, I mostly draw and color using a tablet and a program called Sketchbook Pro, so wish me luck okay? If it turns out decent enough I'll share it through deviantart, where I store my fanart. ;)**

**Thanks for reading, and Happy New Year! :D**


	5. Payback

**Phew, I'm back! I lost count of the number of times I wrote this chapter! I actually started it before I went on vacation, then I worked on bits and pieces of it on the plane…and again after I got back. It's a little short, but I think this is all I want to convey from Grimmjow's perspective for now.**

**I owe some people replies to their reviews, I'm sorry for the delay! I'll get to them in the morning. :)**

* * *

My head feels impossibly heavy in my hands. I'm dizzy. I want to throw up. I want to kick myself in the nuts.

I hear the sound of the crappy pipes in my apartment. Ichigo is showering happily on the other side of my bedroom wall, oblivious to my shitty predicament.

Me and my big mouth.

But can you blame me? The kid had walked out my bedroom looking like a kicked puppy. I may be a cocky, narcissistic asshole, but I'm not _that_ cold-blooded. My legs acted on their own, carrying me back into the apartment. My arms acted on their own and crushed him against my chest. Then my mouth acted on its own and invited him to stay the night.

And that, my friends, is how I ended up in the current situation.

There's a sudden screech of metal, then the pipes clank one last time and go silent. I sigh and stand up. Ichigo is going to come out of the bathroom any minute now. I have to look cool and collected.

"Your turn," Ichigo announces as he knocks politely on the door frame.

I gape at his damp, half-naked form. He's clad only in a towel, his skin glistening where it's wet with water that is dripping down from his hair. His normally-vibrant locks are darker, almost red. His boyish face is flushed from the hot shower.

He looks so delectable that I can feel myself twitching already.

"Okay, thanks," I mumble.

He steps aside to let me pass, then just as I'm about to close the bathroom door, he asks me where he should sleep. On which side of the bed, he asks.

I stare at him dumbly. That's a good question. I usually sleep in the middle, and it's been so long since I shared a bed with someone that I've forgotten which side I favor.

"Left," I say finally after a good long pause.

I watch him amble over to the bed and plop down on his assigned spot. It feels really strange to see someone in my bed. The kid is still practically a stranger to me. It goes against every fiber of my being to allow him to come so close to my sanctuary, but it's too late to kick him out now. I still want him around. I have no illusions about what I am to him. I want to enjoy this while it lasts, before he's distracted by the next piece of hot ass he sees.

When I'm done, Ichigo's tapping away on his phone with a stupid grin on his face. He has my spare pillow propped up against the headboard, and he's leaning back on it looking every bit like he belongs here.

I climb into the bed next to him and lie down. Now comes the awkward part. I'm not sure what to do: I could just turn away from him and go to sleep, let him do whatever he's doing on his phone. Or I could reach over and turn off the lights, to hell with what he's doing. I lie on my back, mind working furiously to no avail. It's difficult. I never claimed to be the most tactful person around.

Ichigo ends up solving the problem for me. I hear a soft thud as his phone lands on the nightstand, then before I can even blink, he's on top of me, straddling my thighs and looking down at me with his almond-shaped, caramel-hued eyes. I swallow thickly as I stare back at him. He looks…different.

He doesn't give me much time to wonder what the hell is going on. He clutches the waistband of my boxers and grinds down, rubbing against me forcefully. I gasp in surprise and arch my back by reflex. For a few moments that's all we do, our bodies clashing as we seek out more friction. It's maddening. Every time I reach down to remove my boxers, he bats my hands away.

Then all of a sudden I understand what he's doing. This is not unlike what I did to him earlier, even though his method is a lot more subtle and tame. He doesn't even say anything, he just toys with me silently, riling me up and then stopping whenever I try to speed up.

Fucking hell. There is no way I'm begging.

His face is flushed and sweaty as he continues. He's panting, his eyes half-mast, but he doesn't look away. I can see the determination in his eyes. He wants to see me break. I curse him and his entire ancestral tree in my head. He's clearly suffering too, but it doesn't look like he's going to give up. The stubborn bastard.

I grab his knees for leverage and raise my hips, but two seconds later he pins my wrists on my sides, surprising me with his strength. He grins wickedly and rocks against me. I growl, and then to my horror, it turns into a manly whimper when he does it again, harder. I'm throbbing madly inside my boxers, my cock so hard that it feels like it's on fire and about to explode. It's straining against the restrictive fabric, aching for release, but I'm not getting enough stimulation to get off.

And he fucking knows it.

Another roll of his hips rips a groan out of my throat. My heart thumps loudly in my chest, my mind frantic and clouded with need. All I can think of is that I want to climax. I need it so badly that every nerve on my body is aflame.

"C'mon," he whispers, then his fingers ghost over my cock, his touch light and dulled by my boxers. His hand lingers on the damp spot at the front of my pants.

I've never wanted to fuck someone so badly before, but something at the back of my mind holds me back, keeping me from humiliating myself.

"Shit," I grind out between my teeth. If I'm not careful, I'm going to chew through the insides of my cheeks.

Ichigo's grin widens. "Uh uh," he says with a shake of his head. "That's not the magic word…" Then he touches me again, stroking gently and slowly, up and down the shaft of my cock.

"Fuck!" I howl, unable to hold back my frustration. "Stop teasing me!"

He cackles softly and stops. "Okay," he says innocently before throwing both hands up in the air.

I'm not going to say please.

I'm not fucking begging.

I buck my hips, but he simply moves away completely.

Fuck my life.

I'm ashamed to say that I sound pretty damn needy when I beg. But at least it works. The next thing I know, I'm sheathed to the hilt inside of him. Everything goes white behind my eyelids. I haven't even noticed when he'd removed my boxers. I groan loudly as my blood sings in relief and pleasure. As he begins to move, I yank him down by his arm and crush our lips together, ignoring his grunt of pain. His teeth graze my tongue and I hiss at the sting, but it's quickly forgotten when he returns the kiss fervently.

Bliss. Absolute, mind-numbing bliss. That's all I can use to describe the euphoria I'm feeling. He rides me with fiery passion, moans tumbling freely from his lips as he throws his head back.

Then it hits me; a sweet, sharp ache that surpasses anything I've ever felt before. I stiffen as if I'm being electrocuted, my entire body going numb suddenly as I come violently inside of him. I hear him cry out, and on an impulse, I pull him into my arms and bury my face in his hair.

It's right there on the tip of my tongue. Ichigo. Ichigo. Ichigo. I can taste the word struggling to slip, and I clench my teeth against it. I want to moan his name into his ear, to call out to the man who just made me feel like I'm floating in heaven, but I don't. Instead, all I let out is a choked grunt that makes me sound like I'm being strangled.

I succeed, like how I did earlier. I manage to swallow his name forcefully down my throat. I try not to think about why I always do this, why I _have_ to do this. Maybe it's stupid, maybe I'm making a big deal out of nothing, but I can't help it.

For a while we lay there quietly; his weight heavy across my torso. He has a fistful of my hair in one hand while the other is splayed on my chest. His breathing has evened out. If not for the gentle stroking in my hair, I would've thought that he has fallen asleep.

"Umm, you sleepy yet?" I ask awkwardly. This is the longest time we're alone with each other _not_ having sex, and the silence is beginning to creep me out.

Ichigo pushes himself off of me and sits up. He doesn't say anything, but his eyes tell me that he wants to. I avert my gaze. I'm no psychic, but I have an idea what he might be thinking. It's always like that. It always comes up eventually, and more often than not, it means that I won't be seeing the person again. I frown, feeling slightly wistful that I'm losing my little stalker so soon.

To my surprise, Ichigo remains silent. He simply cleans himself up and tosses a bunch of tissue paper in my lap. I stare at his toned back, where the muscles ripple as he bends over and wipes his front. Is this it? Am I actually getting away with this?

I throw the crumpled ball of soiled tissue next to the bed and cover myself with my blanket. A few minutes later, he pulls on his boxers and joins me under the covers. There's about two feet of distance between us at first, which makes me feel awkward all over again, but after a while, he inches closer. I feel his body heat next to me, then he touches my bicep tentatively.

Is he really doing what I _think_ he's doing?

Oh hell, yes, he is. I hold my breath as he snuggles up to me. He drapes an arm over my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder. All I can do is stay still and try to breathe normally. He doesn't seem to notice how tense I am.

"Night, Grimm," he mumbles, sounding sleepy.

Ah well, what the hell. What harm can a little cuddling do? After a moment of hesitation, I close my eyes and place my palm over the back of his hand.

"Night, Ichi."

* * *

I wake up to find myself alone in my bedroom, with a small slip of paper on the pillow next to mine.

"_Good morning! Gotta move all that shit out of the shop before you guys start work tomorrow. See ya!_"

I can almost feel Ichigo's smile from his handwriting, and for reasons I cannot fathom, I find myself smirking.

The night had gone by relatively smooth. He'd woken me up by accident when he went out to get some water in the middle of the night, sporting a pretty impressive tent in his boxers. You don't have to be a genius to know what that had led to.

I take a few minutes to think as I sit up in bed. I feel completely normal. I chide myself for freaking out like a chick last night and trudge to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

I arrive at Cero in record time, and for once, I'm the first one there. I start preparing for tomorrow.

At nine o'clock, on the dot, Ilforte arrives. He raises an eyebrow when he sees me, but he doesn't comment. Nnoitra barges into the office half an hour later, cussing loudly about finding a ticket on his windshield. Something to do with street cleaning. The idiot.

He comes up to me to look at the notes I'm going through. He continues his rant about the bloody ticket, and then he stops suddenly.

"Dude, is that a fucking hickey on your neck?" he asks.

I touch the left side of my neck by reflex. I remember Ichigo kissing me there, but I didn't know he had actually done it hard enough to leave a mark. I hadn't noticed it in the mirror this morning. It's probably his idea of revenge.

"The orange-haired kid again?" Nnoitra prods.

I roll my eyes and ignore the lecherous grin on his face. He hasn't stopped teasing me about Ichigo since I told them about it yesterday. The clogged toilet excuse didn't work, obviously.

"No shit! Ya better be careful before he grows on ya!" Nnoitra cackles and slaps me on my shoulder.

Before I can retort, Ilforte exclaims indignantly, "Nnoi!"

Nnoitra ignores his outburst and asks, "So how many times did you two fuck?"

I hear a strangled noise of protest from Ilforte and grin. Who does he think he's kidding? I can practically smell his curiosity from across the room. "Three times last night," I say nonchalantly.

I enjoy the look of amazement and envy on Nnoitra's face. I bet that is more than the guy has had in the past week, perhaps even months.

"That must be one hell of a long night," Ilforte comments dryly.

"Hell yeah." I roll my shoulders and pretend to wince in pain. "That last one in the middle of the night almost tore my dick off."

I frown when the bout of laughter I'm expecting doesn't come, then I realize belatedly what I have just said.

"Shit," Nnoitra says incredulously. "He stayed over?"

"Nnoi!" Ilforte's voice takes on a sharper tone, but Nnoitra acts like he doesn't hear him.

"Haven't you learned your bloody lesson?" Nnoitra explodes.

I groan inwardly. I don't like where this is going. Let's just say that my…personal life is a sore point in our friendship.

"Nnoi, stop it. I think it's great that Grimm has found someone—"

Nnoitra cuts Ilforte off and sneers, "Oh yeah? Just like last time, eh?"

I sigh and sit back in my chair. Here they go again, fighting over this in front of me like I'm not right fucking here.

"That…that's different!" Ilforte sputters.

"Like I'm gonna let him believe you again!" Nnoitra yells back fiercely, raising himself to his full height to tower over Ilforte.

I try my best to tune them out, but not before I catch Ilforte giving me a pained look. I pretend not to see it. I know what that look means. I've told him over and over again not to feel that way, but of course he never listens.

I don't blame Nnoitra for reacting this way. He just wants to "protect" me, which I _really_ don't appreciate. It's kind of insulting to know that he thinks I can't handle this on my own, but I understand where he's coming from.

I give up trying to ignore their bickering and slam my fist on the table. "Enough, you two," I growl.

They stare at each other, then look over at me. I know they're just dying to continue, but I shoot them a glare that warns them that I mean it. Ilforte bows his head and shuts up. Nnoitra, on the other hand, just has to put in the last word.

"You be careful, boss," he mutters. "Ya let him get close…that's when he cuts ya."

My mouth goes dry. All of a sudden, last night doesn't seem so great after all.

* * *

**To be continued…**


	6. Legolas and Skinny Freak

**Hello! I'm back with a new chapter! I'm glad you guys liked the previous update, especially since it was so difficult to write. It's weird, in the beginning I felt more comfortable writing from Grimmjow's POV, but now all of a sudden I find it easier to think from Ichigo's POV. I don't understand myself sometimes.**

**Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy this one. Have a great weekend! :)**

* * *

I arrive early at Geta-boshi's today. We have some last-minute shit to do, such as moving the entire register and reception desk to the back. I grumble all the way under my breath, especially when Renji laughs at me about how I'm a spoiled brat and can't handle some simple manual labor.

Half an hour later, everything's ready and waiting for the Cero crew. I'm the perfect picture of nonchalance, but inside I'm feeling a little nervous and excited. Just a _tiny_ bit. Call me a girl, but I can't help it, okay? I've finally moved past the fuck-and-leave phase with the object of my obsession, so please excuse me while I do a victory dance in my head.

Speaking of Grimmjow, I haven't seen him since I left his apartment yesterday. I assume he's busy getting ready to start the project here. I'm really glad that Geta-boshi hired them, because that means a week's worth of ogling for me. Just because the shop is closed doesn't mean I don't have to come to work. There's still the online stuff to take care of. With the shop out of commission for a while, I expect the online orders to increase.

"You gonna stare at the door all day?" Renji teases me when my eyes linger two seconds too long on the front door.

I scowl. "Shut it, you big baboon."

My best friend just laughs. Again, it's all my fault. I'm the one who texted him about my little sleepover in the first place. I usually don't kiss and tell or gossip, but this is just too precious. There's nothing more satisfying than proving the idiot wrong. The pace is slower than I like and the order of our interaction is unorthodox, but I think Grimmjow and I took a big step last night.

Sure, he's a little weird sometimes. He has this tendency to...how should I put it, there's just this...invisible _distance_ between us off and on. I understand it when it's a casual encounter, but it's not like he hasn't shown a caring side before. It's the inconsistency that bugs me. I just don't understand him.

If not for the fact that I got him back for humiliating me that night, I'd be a lot more pissed at him, but as it is, I think we're even. Oh man, I can't even describe the rush I felt when he finally gave in and practically pleaded for relief. His eyes, normally a brilliant cerulean hue, were so dark and watery that I thought he was crying.

"Aww, you're blushing!" Renji elbows me in the ribs.

My cheeks become hot immediately. "Shut up!" I hiss quietly. I don't want Geta-boshi to overhear us. The guy is the biggest, nosiest gossip in Karakura, I swear.

Right on cue, I hear the familiar click-clack of my boss' wooden sandals, and a moment later the man appears behind us.

"Ah, thank you boys! I see you've done a wonderful job emptying the room! Lunch is on me!" he cries with exaggerated enthusiasm.

I roll my eyes, but hey, free food is free food. I exchange a high five with Renji and begin to think about what we should order.

Throughout our discussion, I keep eyeing the door as discretely as I can manage. Guess it's still not discrete enough because Renji nudges me with a mischievous smile on his face.

Finally, just as I'm thinking that my neck's going to cramp up, the front door swings open to reveal three men in rugged work clothes. The blonde dude reminds me of Legolas from Lord of The Rings with his long, straight blond hair. A few stray strands hang over his forehead and eyes, which makes me wonder how the hell does he get any work done with them in the way like that.

Next to him is the guy with jet-black hair that flows past his shoulders. He's ridiculously tall and ridiculously skinny, and he has this sinister-looking smile on his face that makes me want to back away from him.

And then there's Grimmjow, of course. He's a lot more muscular compared to the others—his shoulders broader and his arms thicker—making him look stockier than he really is. He has the perfect body in my eyes. I especially love the alluring V shape of his torso, where it leads to...

Where was I?

Right...the door opens to reveal the three men, and then they walk in uninvited like they own the place.

"Good morning, good morning!" my boss sings, waving his idiotic folded fan at them. God, I _know_ that man is the most brilliant, intelligent person I've ever met in my life, so _why_ oh _why_ does he have to make himself look like a moron in front of people?

Grimmjow tips his head in Geta-boshi's direction and drops his duffle bag on the floor. I look at him, trying to catch his eyes, but stupid Geta-boshi chooses that very moment to walk towards Grimmjow and block him from my view. I huff in irritation. If I crane my neck any more, it would be way too obvious.

I'm not _that_ eager to see him. Doh.

"You guys should head to the back, it's going to get real messy in here," the blonde says with a smile. He seems like the friendliest of the lot.

Out of nowhere, my skin starts prickling. That's when I realize that the skinny freak is looking at me like I've eaten his baby. I can't imagine why.

I'm just about to open my mouth to ask when Renji grabs my shoulder and tries to drag me inside. The sudden movement startles me and, to my dismay, I let out a very unmanly yelp before I can stop myself. I hear a snort of laughter and immediately whip my head around to see who has a death wish.

It's Grimmjow. Geta-boshi has stepped aside and Grimmjow's now eyeing me with a smirk of amusement. I give him my best glare, but his smile only widens to bare his sharp canines. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Skinny Freak giving him a sideways glance with an unreadable expression on his face before turning back to scowl at me.

Seriously, what the fuck is his problem?

"Alright, we should get started," Legolas interrupts our little staring match with a nod.

With that, the three of them roll up their sleeves and turn their backs to me, leaving me standing there feeling bewildered and more than a little disappointed. I don't know what I'm expecting…a warmer greeting maybe? A hug? A pat on the head? I shake my head and chide myself for being so immature.

Renji gives my elbow another tug. This time I give in and follow behind him. We go into the stuffy office, where I plop down in front of the computer. It's pretty ancient, but it's enough to get the job done.

"So!" Renji begins. "Whatchoo gonna do?"

I frown, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Renji wiggles his eyebrows at me. I watch the tattoos on his forehead disappear and reappear under his bandana. "Aren't you gonna ask him out or…I dunno…something? You're not gonna keep this weird shit up, are you? If you're serious about him, now's the time to act, man!"

Ah.

"I don't know," I mutter under my breath.

To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about Grimmjow. He's gorgeous, definitely, and I can't get enough of him, but do I truly feel more than pure lust for him? The answer is that I don't know. Yet, at the same time, I know—as does Renji—that I'm not cut out for this friends-with-benefits situation. Sooner or later I'm going to crack, and it won't be pretty.

"Dude." Renji looks unhappy at my indecisiveness. "Why don't you talk to him? When you guys…you know, hang out again."

I snort out loud. Thank god I'm not drinking coffee, otherwise it would be all over Renji's face by now. For someone who looks every bit like the fiercest badass in town, Renji is a pussy when it comes to human anatomy and certain activities. I guess it's because of his strict upbringing. He is, after all, the adopted son of Kuchiki Sojun.

"Maybe I will," I shrug. I'm not really looking forward to the conversation, though. I'm kind of hoping that Grimmjow would bring it up first, but then again I highly doubt he would.

Thankfully, Renji lets the subject go after that. I swivel the office chair around to face the computer and officially begin my work day. As I had expected, we have _a lot_ of orders that we have to handle today. Looks like Renji will be out in the sun a lot later.

Time passes by quickly when I'm busy. Before long, Geta-boshi sticks his head in and announces that it's lunch time. Both of us scramble out of our seats eagerly.

"Ichigo, you stay here and keep these nice gentlemen company," my boss says with a bright smile. "Renji and I will take care of food."

Right before he walks out of the office, Renji winks at me knowingly. I give him the middle finger and sit back down on the chair. Damn that red-haired baboon! Now I can't sit still because I know what that wink means. I tap my foot on the floor, feeling restless, and contemplate my options.

After a few minutes, I decide that I can't stand being in here by myself. I straighten my t-shirt and run my fingers through my hair in a last-ditch attempt to look presentable, then I puff out my chest and step into the shop.

The sight that greets me floors me completely.

The shop is a mess, as Legolas has warned. Big chunks of the old carpet are already removed, revealing the ugly concrete surface underneath. Grimmjow is crouching with one knee on the ground, his head bent over as he cuts a strip out of the remaining carpet with an odd-shaped device that looks like a deformed penknife. His paint-smudged jeans sit low on his hips, his blue-grey checkered boxers peeking out from the waistband.

I swallow thickly and will my eyes away from that mouthwatering ass. Taking a deep breath, I clear my throat to alert them of my presence.

Immediately, I hear a sharp curse from Grimmjow, and his weird-looking knife slips from his gloved hand. Legolas lets go of the carpet strip that he is holding and kneels down next to Grimmjow to inspect the damage.

"Sorry!" I blurt in dismay and instinctively take a step forward to join them, but I'm suddenly shoved back by Skinny Freak.

"It's dangerous here, get out of the way," he growls.

I open my mouth to argue, but stop when Grimmjow stands up, cradling one of his hands in the other. I can't see his injury from where I am, but judging from the slight pinch between his brows, it must be painful.

"You have a first-aid kit?" Grimmjow asks gruffly.

"Y-yeah, I'll go get it," I reply hastily, then I dart back into the office. I fling the cabinet doors open and rummage around for it. After a few tries, I finally locate the small plastic kit, and I grab it and turn around. I'm in such a hurry that I don't notice what's in my path and promptly collide with a wall.

Blinking, I realize that what I just walked into is actually a wall of _muscle_. More specifically, Grimmjow's.

"No need to freak out, kid," he says, sounding amused. His gloves are off, his hands freshly washed and still dripping wet.

"I'm not freaking out!" I say defensively. I open the lid of the first-aid kit and take out a wad of antiseptic wipes and a roll of gauze. "Sit," I command.

He raises an eyebrow and plants himself in the office chair, the one that I've been sitting in earlier. I hope it's not still warm and gross. He watches me quietly as I tend to his cut. It's a pretty deep gash, and I feel guilty for startling him and causing him to cut himself.

"I'm really sorry," I mutter.

His hand jolts slightly when I dab the cut with antiseptic wipe, but he doesn't make a sound. I steal a glance at his face and feel defeated that I can't tell what he's thinking. He's not frowning in pain anymore, but he isn't smiling either.

"For what?" he asks quietly.

I purse my lips at the stupid question. "For...gah, you know what I mean!" I search his face again, trying to gauge his emotion. I swear he's teasing me, but he's not sporting the smug grin that's usually plastered on his face. He just looks thoughtful, almost serious, as he stares at our hands.

As silence wears on, I become painfully aware that we're alone in a small enclosed space, and I can't help but remember what happened the last time we were in a similar place. I haven't even noticed that the office door is closed until now. I look away from his wound briefly to admire his angular features and unruly hair. It's deceptively soft, I remember. So soft yet so thick, perfect for tugging during...

I catch myself before my mind tumbles completely into the gutter, but it's too late. He has already noticed my shameless ogling. He looks at me, his eyes suddenly dark with a glint that's both familiar and frightening. He stands up slowly.

"Are you going to make it up to me, then?" he leans closer and asks in a low voice.

I gulp, nearly choking on my own saliva. I'm not a meek person, _by far_, but he has this intimidating, almost predatory aura that rolls off him naturally. My pulse picks up as his breath ghosts over my cheek. He smells like a mixture of mint and tobacco. It should be disgusting, but it only makes me shiver in excitement.

When he repeats the question in a whisper, my brain short circuits. "U-uhh..." is the only response I can think of.

"Try again," he murmurs into my ear.

By now, my heart is beating wildly inside my rib cage, and my hold on his wounded hand slips. I take a step backwards, but his hand shoots out and catches my hip in a crushing grip.

"Hand...hurt," I grind out between my teeth. My entire body has become stiff with tension; whether in fear or anticipation, I'm not sure.

He chuckles. "So make me feel better."

I suck in a deep breath. This doesn't sound like something that can be done with a first-aid kit, but I know exactly where this is heading. So I clench my eyes shut, tiptoeing slightly to make up for our height difference, and plant a kiss on his lips. As soon as we touch, he takes it up a notch and pries my mouth open roughly with his tongue. Just like that; no polite requests for permission, no apologies, only a rude, direct invasion.

I shouldn't like it, but the truth is, I do. I never knew I have this side in me. Nobody has ever dared to be so rough with me. It's strangely thrilling. My throat constricts and I find it difficult to breathe, yet I can't find it in myself to push him away.

"Fuck," he murmurs into my mouth. Not exactly the most romantic thing to hear under the circumstances, but I can hear the tremor in his voice—the need, the want, the urgency—and damn if it doesn't make me harder. For him. I don't even realize that I'm touching myself until he pries my hand away.

Renji's warning and advice recede into the deepest, darkest corner of my mind. To hell with _talking_. We can do that whenever. _Right now_, I just want him; I don't care how as long as it is right this fucking second.

He breaks the kiss finally and turns me around to press me front-first into the waist-height cabinet. I hear the sounds of a belt being unbuckled and a zipper being pulled. I reach for my own pants automatically and let it slip down to my knees. The sound of him spitting into his palms rips a moan from my throat, and then I'm suddenly shoved forward.

The only warning I got is a low grunt before he enters me all the way in one merciless thrust. I bite into my forearm, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. My instinct is to scream, but somehow I still have the clarity of mind to refrain myself, knowing that his friends are out there within earshot.

Within seconds, the ache ebbs, replaced by sharp, mind-numbing pleasure that courses through my body every time he strikes that perfect spot. His hand wraps around me, stroking and tugging in sync with his hips. It's all I can do to cling to the cabinet and fight against the noises that are struggling to escape from my mouth.

I hear him pant "fuck" over and over again, his voice hushed and breathless. His pace becomes feverish, frantic; then with one final twist of his wrist, I crash hard, my abdominal muscles spasming as pleasure crests and pushes me over the proverbial edge. He swears again, this time loudly, and stiffens seconds later. I feel him throb and jerk inside of me, and I just can't hold back anymore. A choked cry leaves me even though I have my mouth buried against my arm.

"Shit," I rasp. My throat hurts, dry from my breathing so heavily through my mouth for the past few minutes.

We both freeze, my body tense and alert. I'm fully expecting someone to bust their way in here to investigate who just got murdered, but seconds tick by and nothing happens. I feel his body relax—as does mine—and his grip on my hips loosens. As he pulls his jeans back up, I notice with horror that his bandage is stained a bright crimson. I snatch up a few packets of antiseptic wipes and unravel the gauze on his hand. I have no choice but to redo them.

Through it all, he watches without a word; his face expressionless, his playfulness gone.

A small stab of concern and anger invades my head. There it is again: the inconsistency, the mixed signals that I keep receiving. I don't understand how he can be so passionate one moment and so detached the next. Is he truly bipolar?

It is at this very second that it dawns on me: I care. I'm angry because I fucking _care_.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	7. Instant Noodles

**Here we go, another chapter! :D The ideas are just flowing! I know a lot of you are getting antsy about all this mystery around Grimmjow's past. Fear not, this chapter will give you a glimpse (or two) of that!**

**Onwards!**

**p/s: I owe people replies…I will get to them asap! Sorry!**

* * *

"What the _fuck_ were you thinking?"

I clench my jaw and pointedly avoid Nnoitra's accusing gaze. We're on the way back to Cero with me at the steering wheel of our battered-up truck. Nnoitra is sitting next to me in the front passenger seat, while Ilforte is in the back. I'm beginning to regret this seating arrangement.

"He's cute, I give ya that," Nnoitra continues to rant loudly, flinging his stick-like arms in the air. "But if ya keep doing this, ya gonna get _attached_ and—"

"I don't get '_attached_', Nnoi," I growl, even though I'm trying not to listen to him.

"Oh hell—"

"Nnoi! Leave him alone!" Ilforte's voice cuts through the rising tension in the car and we fall silent, mostly out of shock. I haven't heard Ilforte sound this fierce for a long time, not since…

Fuck. Can't they see that their efforts to "help" me is only reminding me of exactly what I'm trying to forget?

I grit my teeth and resist the urge to snap at my friends. They're seriously beginning to test my patience, and I don't have much of it to begin with. I remind myself that they're only looking out for me, but if they keep this up, I don't think I can hold myself back much longer.

Thankfully, Nnoitra resorts to sulking in silence with his head turned away from me after that. I glance at him briefly and feel my chest constrict. All I can see of his face from this angle is a tiny bit of the eye patch that he wears over his left eye. He may look like a tough one, but I know deep down inside, he's really self conscious about it. I can tell from the subtle way he always tilts his head to cover the eye with his hair. I don't know if he's even aware that he has this habit.

I think the injury still bothers him. He tends to be quieter when the weather gets cold, although he never talks about it. He never talks about his eye, and I don't ask about it. I don't need to; I already know everything about it, because I'm the one who blinded it. Not directly, but it's close enough.

I don't think I would ever forget the day it happened. All that blood, his howl of anguish, the sickening sight of the jagged piece of glass potruding out of his face; it's permanently imprinted in my head.

It should have been me.

I was piss drunk at the time. We were in a shitty bar drowning ourselves with even shittier beer. Well, I was. Then some random dude bumped into me, and I lost it.

Before I knew it, it had become an all-out brawl. I was taking on four guys, and was doing pretty well until one of them got a lucky hit on the back of my head. I almost blacked out from the impact, and I remember being restrained after that. My arms, legs, they were all over me, and I was surrounded by equally drunk, equally violent men. I heard a shriek of laughter, then someone rushed at me from the front. I remember seeing a glint of something shiny in the air.

The next thing that happened would scar me forever. I felt a searing pain across my torso. The man had cut me with a fucking broken glass bottle. It was bad, I was bleeding all over myself. He raised his arm again to cut me one more time, then all of a sudden I was on the floor and there were these horrible screams above me.

Someone collapsed on the floor in front of me, clutching his face, writhing and crying out in pain. It was Nnoitra. The fucker had stabbed my best friend in the eye.

I will have you know that the man who did this didn't leave that bar in one piece. I'll spare you the gory details, but let's just say that I saw red after that. No, I didn't kill him; that would be too merciful. There were worst things in life than death.

And that was the whole story. Nnoitra lost his left eye that night. For me. Five years ago.

Now you know why I try so hard to control myself. I can yell at him, be annoyed at him, but I can never _truly_ be mad at him. Ever.

Of course, that doesn't mean he has the right to tell me what to do with my life. Fuck that. I don't answer to anyone. Still, his warnings have taken root, and it makes me itch all over like having phantom thorns that can't be extracted.

The rest of the ride back is silent and uncomfortable. Half an hour later, I pull up in front of our workshop and kill the engine. Nnoitra hops off immediately and disappears into the building. I know he's throwing a tantrum like a child, but I'm too tired to go after him. I pinch my nose and lean my head back on the seat rest, and exhale through my mouth. I wince involuntarily as the simple action irritates my cut.

"You should see a doctor," Ilforte comments softly from behind.

I shrug noncommittally, and Ilforte sighs. He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze and gets down from the truck. I watch him slip inside our workshop, and for a moment I wonder if I should go in there and talk to Nnoitra, but the urge passes quickly when my head throbs. It has been a long day at Urahara's shop; what with all that work and the unexpected action in the office, I'm beat. I lock the truck and pocket the keys, then I stride over to the love of my life—my BMW, in case you misunderstand—and begin the journey back to my crappy apartment.

After a long, extremely hot shower, I make myself instant noodles and sink into my couch with the steaming bowl in my hand. There's nothing good on the television, so I end up settling for some random program on the National Geographic channel. All I really want is some background sound after all, just so the place doesn't seem so eerily silent and empty.

Half way through my nutritious dinner, somebody bangs on my front door. I pretend not to hear it, assuming it's some stupid salesperson. Only Nnoitra and Ilforte know where I live, and they both have keys to my place. Plus, I don't think Nnoitra is in the mood to talk to me yet.

The banging continues, and after a few seconds, I get up and stalk to the door, ready to incinerate the asshole on the other side. But when I see my visitor, I'm surprised.

"Hi," Ichigo says.

I look him up and down, taking in his strange choice of clothing. He's wearing a white t-shirt that hugs his figure perfectly and a pair of printed, drawstring pajama pants that looks two sizes too big for him. A plastic box hangs from his hand.

I open the door wider for him and let him inside, all the while wondering why he's here. He's not here for a quick lay, is he? If he is, I just might have to disappoint him.

He surprises me again by setting the box on my dining table and opening it, revealing rows and rows of gauze and cotton buds and other medical paraphernalia.

"Sit," he says, pointing to the chair next to him with a tube of unknown ointment.

I make myself comfortable and watch him with a mixture of curiosity and amazement. He rummages through the box with a sense of familiarity and lays out various items on a paper napkin on the table. His brows are drawn in concentration, his face serious.

Hmm. An unannounced doctor's house call from a convenience store clerk?

"You seem to know what you're doing," I observe.

He shrugs. "My dad owns a clinic. I used to work there during the summers."

I see.

The next few minutes consists of him undressing, cleaning, and redressing my cut. I have to admit that I'm impressed. When he's done, he closes the box and moves to leave.

"Wait," I blurt out.

He blinks and stares at me questioningly. My mouth goes dry under his gaze, and I realize with a start that I don't know why I stopped him. I scratch my head and reach for the first thing I can think of.

"Have you had dinner yet?"

His shakes his head.

"I'm, uhh, having instant noodles," I mutter. "Do you want some?"

Ten minutes later, we're both sitting on my couch making obscene slurping noises as we wolf down our dinners. I had to remake mine because the noodles had managed to suck up all the soup while he was tending to my hand. We're now watching a rerun of The Big Bang Theory, something I've heard of but have never watched. It's unexpectedly entertaining for a show about a bunch of nerds.

We remain on the couch and continue watching the next episode even after our bowls are empty. There's a good two feet between the two of us. I'm not sure why, but that bothers me. I study his profile secretly, admiring his slim, pointy face and his long eyelashes. The color of his eyes makes me think of honey and caramel and amber all at the same time.

"What're you staring at?" he asks suddenly, snapping me out of my trance-like state.

I recover quickly and cover my embarrassment with a cough. "I was looking at the clock," I lie.

He raises his eyebrows and turns around to look at the clock-less wall next to him. "You mean you were looking _for_ the clock?" he asks, his lips twitching.

"Smartass," I grumble darkly.

His impish grin stirs something in me. He looks so smug, so pleased with himself. If it were anyone else, I would've given the guy a solid punch in the face, but when I see Ichigo, I just want to crush him. More specifically, crush him into the couch and ravish him until he can't walk.

"If ya keep doing this, ya gonna get '_attached_'," Nnoitra's voice rings in my head.

I close my eyes and push it down. Just this once. One more time, and I'll stop. One last time, then I won't touch him again.

Ichigo lets out a startled gurgle when I pounce on him. His eyes widen comically before fluttering close as I slide my tongue between his parted lips. I reach for his thighs blindly and somehow manage to shift his position so that he's lying on the couch beneath me, then I nudge his legs apart and tug on his pajama pants.

I thought I sense him stiffen for a second, but before I can stop, he melts against me. He presses himself up into my body and rubs the bulge in his pants against my knee. The fatigue in my bones vanishes instantly.

When I push into him, he groans and digs his fingers into my arms; the grip of his hands mimicking the way his passage is clenching tightly around my cock. I let my forehead fall onto his and rock in and out of him, relishing the velvety heat and crushing embrace that envelopes me every time I enter him.

It's over all too soon, and I collapse on top of him, exhausted beyond belief. His breaths sound ragged next to my ear, and eventually he pushes me off of him. I sink bonelessly against the back of the couch and immediately feel my eyelids slide close.

Right before I slip under, I hear Ichigo calling my name. He mumbles something, his voice garbled and distant. I catch a word here and a word there. Something like "talk", and "why".

Then I fall into blissful slumber.

* * *

_"He's the one, Nnoi," I try not to gush, but my pulse is racing and my face is flushed. My whole body is tense, restless, just bursting to announce to everyone that I've found the love of my life. I sound so fucking clichéd but I don't give a fuck._

_Nnoitra rolls his eyes and snorts. I can tell that he is just playing hard to get. He can't fool me, I'm his best friend after all. We've grown up together, got kicked out of our homes together, expelled from school together. Really, the biggest difference between the two of us is that he likes tits and I don't._

_"Come on." I shake his arm lightly. "I'll take you to Oblivion and buy you all the drinks you would ever want."_

_His eyes light up instantly even though he's still trying hard to maintain the petulant pout on his face. "Oh fine," he says finally. "I don't understand why you'd choose _me_ to go ring shopping with ya, but whatever…ya owe me big time for this ya hear?_

_I leap up from my seat and drag him out of his, nearly crashing into an oncoming waitress on our way out of the cafe. _

_"Sorry!" I holler over my shoulder. I can't stop grinning as I run to my battered-up Camry. Nnoitra shakes his head with a baleful expression on his face and slides into the front passenger seat._

_I find the perfect ring two hours later. I've read up on the 4Cs of diamonds: carat, color, cut, clarity, and this one fits everything I have in mind. I can't wait to see his face when he opens the box this weekend. I have everything planned. The hotel, the special members-only wine-tasting event, the dinner reservation, the speech. Every fucking detail down to a T._

_That night, Nnoitra burns a hole in my wallet. We have a great time at Oblivion, one of the poshest nightclubs in the city. A quarter to midnight, I tell him that I need to leave._

_"You've turned into a pussy, ya know?" Nnoitra drawls, shoving a finger in my face accusingly._

_I grin. I know I have, and I'm not ashamed of it. My wild days are over. Nnoitra may still enjoy the lifestyle, but after I found _him_, it doesn't appeal to me anymore. I prefer to stay home, cuddle up with him in front of the television. He'd make me the thickest, sweetest hot chocolate in the world and give me a back rub every night. _

_I can honestly say that I'm the happiest man alive._

_So I ignore Nnoitra's rants and leave him at the nightclub. I'm not worried about him. He's a big boy, he'll get home safely, probably with a chick or two in tow. _

_He's waiting for me in the living room when I let myself into our apartment. It's a small one-bedroom place; tiny but meticulously neat because of his obsession with cleanliness. He jumps off the couch and greets me with a deep kiss that makes me all hot and bothered immediately. I push him against the wall, but he holds me at an arm's length and demands that I take a shower before I touch him._

_When I come out from the bathroom, he's lying on our bed; his glasses gone, his legs spread elegantly across our silk sheets. How he manages to make such a lewd action look so graceful, I have no idea. I fling my towel on the floor and crawl over to him, licking and nipping on his legs and torso and neck as I go closer and closer to his lips._

_After a while, he flips us around and sinks down between my legs. I close my eyes and groan loudly as he takes me in deep into his throat. His moist, silky mouth brings me to the brink within seconds, and then he moves back up and lowers himself on me. I don't last very long. He knows exactly what I want and what I like._

_I came minutes later, gasping and moaning beneath him as he follows suit. I pull him into my arms and hold him tightly against my chest, ignoring the mess between us. Right as the last tremor runs through my body, I murmur his name into his ear, my voice hoarse and a little breathless, just the way he loves it. _

_As he slowly drifts off, his body still sprawled on top of mine, I rehearse the speech in my head. I thread my fingers through his shoulder-length hair as I mutter softly, practicing the words, my pledge to love him and cherish him for the rest of our lives. _

_I hope he says yes._

* * *

**To be continued…**

**I'm sure you're all freaking out and going "wtf who is that who is that who is that"…at least I hope you are! It's a flashback in the form of a dream, in case it's not clear. So I gave you TWO insights into Grimmjow's past, which, hopefully, will fuel even more speculation, muahahahahaha! *evil glint in the eyes***


	8. Fair Trade

**Hoho! Speculations galore! I have to admit that some of you got the right answer, but I won't say which, just to grind on your nerves a little. Just lemme rub in the sense of mystery for one more chapter, then I promise I'll reveal the name in the next chapter, how's that?**

**By the way, Rim-Lickin, I wasn't able to thank you personally via PM, so please know that I appreciate your reviews for this story as well as the others! :D**

**In the meantime, let's move on from Ichi's POV!**

* * *

What happened to "I'm not here to sleep with him"? I'd gone to his place with pure, innocent intentions, but he just had to screw it all up. The moment I felt his lips on mine was the moment my self restraint crumbled.

I'm _so_ fucked.

I massage my temples and try to forget how good he is in bed. I know size shouldn't matter, but the fact that he's strong and well-endowed doesn't hurt. He's so dominating, demanding, and so _rude_, yet I find it easier to give myself to him than I've ever given anyone else. It scares me shitless.

Renji senses my bad mood and steers clear of me today. I appreciate his tact, but at the same time I can see the itch on his face. He's dying to ask me what's wrong. I want to tell him. I don't want to be nagged. See my dilemma here?

I stay in the office all morning even though I can hear the Cero crew outside. It's noisy and dusty in the shop, so I have the office door firmly shut. I'm aware that only a flimsy wooden door stands between me and the object of my desire. It should be fucking illegal to want somebody so badly. And by _want_ I mean to own all of him; his body, his attention, and...dare I say...his heart.

I'm nuts. I've only known him for...what, a couple of weeks? Lusting after his ass from afar for four months doesn't really count. I know I've only seen the tip of the iceberg, so to say that I want him like that goes against every shred of common sense in my head. I'm _not_ like that. I don't fall for random strangers.

But what is Grimmjow if not a random stranger?

As if it isn't already bad enough, he'd actually fallen asleep half way through my little speech last night. My heartfelt, impulsive speech that had tumbled from my mouth out of nowhere. What I had intended to be a discussion of sorts ended up being a one-sided declaration of my feelings—how he attracts me and confuses me at the same time—and I was so caught up in it that I didn't even know he wasn't listening until I heard his thunderous snores. I was so embarrassed.

And that's why I can't bring myself to see him today. Now that I'm more level-headed, I'm horrified that I've essentially confessed last night, and I don't even know if he had heard anything!

"Lunch time, Ichigo?" Geta-boshi sticks his head into the office and asks. He looks a little concerned, probably because I haven't hurled any insults at him yet today.

I rub my face to try to make myself look a little more awake and mumble that I'll be right out. My boss gives me a nod and closes the door. I hope we're not having lunch with Grimmjow's crew.

_Of course _we're having lunch with Grimmjow's crew. Geta-boshi has laid out a mat just outside the office, and all of them are sitting cross-legged around a pile of opened bento boxes. Everybody looks up at me when I appear, Grimmjow included.

I don't know how to interpret his body language. I narrow my eyes and try to read his expression. Damn. I can't tell if he _knows_. He has a half-smile on his face; it looks out of place, a little forced if you ask me. I much prefer his teeth-baring grins.

Still, it's better than the laser beams coming from Skinny Freak, or Nnoitra, as they have finally formally introduced themselves. I have a good mind to have a chat with that fellow later. I have a right to know why he's trying to kill me with his eyes. Or rather, eye.

Anyways, I sit down between Geta-boshi and Renji and grab a pair of chopsticks. I look at my options: teriyaki chicken, or teriyaki chicken. Ah, decisions, decisions.

"So, Ichigo, Mr. Urahara tells me that you're talented with computers," Legolas, or Ilforte, says casually.

I pause with half a piece of chicken sticking out from my mouth, feeling a little apprehensive. "Umm, if he says so."

The blonde flashes me a smile, looking pleased. He turns to Geta-boshi. "You wouldn't mind if your employee takes a small project on the side, would you?" he asks. "We would like to hire him to re-design our record-keeping system."

Several people react at once; I promptly spit out my half-eaten teriyaki chicken, Renji drops his chopsticks, Skinny Freak—I refuse to refer to him by name—elbows Ilforte hard in the ribs, and Grimmjow chokes on his soda. The calmest of us all, ironically, is my boss. He simply raises his eyebrows and replies, "Of course not, as long as it does not affect his work here."

"Wait a minute!" I sputter indignantly. "I'm...I'm not available! I..err...don't have the time to..."

Skinny Freak nods heartily, for once not looking at me like he wants to incinerate me on the spot. "Yeah, the kid's busy, we shouldn't—"

For some reason our response seems to entertain Geta-boshi—that sadist asshole—and he interrupts Skinny Freak mid-sentence. "Why, actually, he's available tomorrow. How about we work out a deal, Mr. Grantz? One day of labor from your crew in exchange for one day of service from Mr. Kurosaki. I think that's fair, don't you think?"

Ilforte's face brightens into a freakishly wide grin. "That sounds perfect," he says.

* * *

I can't believe Cero Constructions still uses Windows 98. _Ninety-eight,_ for God's sake! That's fourteen years old, in case you're still counting.

I wait with gritted teeth as the operating system splash screen is displayed on the monitor. What they need is not a new record-keeping system. They need a fucking new computer! It's a good thing that I brought my laptop along. That will have to do as my development box. Geta-boshi must be crazy to think that I can finish this in one day. I need at least a week for this shit, which means I'll have to work overtime. Luckily Ilforte had been reasonable and agreed to pay me for whatever additional hours I put in.

I'm alone in their crappy little workshop while they're working. They call it their office, but I say it's more like a shed. The yellowed monstrosity on their office desk is still sitting there, stuck on the welcome screen, so I take the liberty of examining the stuff they have in here. Stacks of paper sit on top of cabinets along one wall and shelves cover the rest. I run my fingers over the different tools and gadgets out of curiosity. My dad is not into this stuff, so to be honest, I've never seen most of these equipment, all of which look like they can cause quite a bit of damage if not used properly.

Finally, after far too long, I manage to get their existing software to run, and I examine the functionality that they have and compare them with the list of requirements that Ilforte left behind. What they have now fits maybe eighty percent of their needs, so I have a pretty good reference to start with. I turn to my laptop and set to work.

I lose track of time with my nose buried in rows of code, and before I know it, the crew has returned. I nearly fall off the chair when the door swings open with a bang to reveal Skinny Freak. His face rearranges itself into a scowl as soon as he sees me.

"What is your problem?" I blurt, sick and tired of being subjected to this unwarranted hostility.

"You," he snaps, then he spins on his heels and stalks out of the place without further elaboration.

I growl low in my throat, my temper rearing its ugly head. I'm used to being provoked from years of unpleasant experience in school, but this is getting ridiculous. At least the schoolyard bullies _tell_ me that they can't stand my hair color, among other immature reasons. This guy seems to be pissed just because I _exist_. Can you blame me for wanting to bash his head in?

"Don't worry about him," Ilforte says soothingly, placing his hand on my shoulder and squeezing it lightly. "He's just having a bad day."

"He seems to have a bad day every fucking day," I grumble, taking out my frustration on the poor Return key on my laptop. I look around and finally notice that Ilforte and I are alone in the workshop. I open my mouth to ask about Grimmjow, but at the last moment I snap my mouth shut and frown. I don't really want to see him, do I?

"He's outside smoking," Ilforte says as if he can read my mind. "Nasty habit. I wish he would quit." Without waiting for my response, he moves away and starts to tinker around the cabinets.

I stare at my laptop screen. Okay. He's outside. I steal a glance at my watch and realize with a start that it's almost eight. I swallow thickly, suddenly nervous. It's time for me to pack up and go home, but he's outside, in my way. To get to the bus stop, no doubt I'd have to go past him.

Sucking in a deep breath, I decide that I have the balls to do this. I gather up my things and bid Ilforte goodbye, and step outside. The cool evening air blows my hair away from my face, and I catch a clear view of my crush. He's leaning against their truck puffing on a cigarette. He lifts his head just as I take a step forward.

"Hey," he says, eyes widening as if he's surprised to see me.

Dude. Had he heard what I said last night? Does he know how I feel about him? The suspense is killing me. Maybe I should clear the air, just ask him directly to put my mind at ease.

"Hi," I reply a little too quickly. I ball my hands into fists and tell myself that I'm not a love-sick chick. I'm a grown man who can deal with adult issues like this. Later, I'll tell him that we need to talk. Oh, the dreaded "we need to talk" opening. I'm sure he'd appreciate that.

"Where'd you park your car?" he asks, flicking the cigarette butt on the ground and crushing it with one foot.

"I don't have one," I say, pulling myself to my full height to appear more confident than I feel. "I'm taking the bus."

His eyebrows shoot towards his bangs. "Want a ride?"

Ooh. That sounds like the perfect chance to talk to him…until my brain catches up with the implication. Me and him alone in an enclosed space...yeah, maybe not the brightest idea.

"Nah, I'm good," I say hastily.

"It's kind of on my way," he deadpans.

I open my mouth to decline. "Uhh, okay."

What...

I gasp in awe at the sight of his sleek BMW. I'm not a car fan or anything, but I can recognize luxury when I see it. I run my palm over the hood tentatively, eyes glued to the sparkling exterior. It's so clean and shiny that I can see my reflection perfectly. He coughs and I look up to see him staring pointedly at my hand, and I shrink back immediately. Message received.

The drive back is quiet except for the radio. I look straight ahead at the road, the music not registering in my head at all. I'm so tempted to look at him, but I refrain myself. Then, as I recognize that we're nearing our apartment complex, my heart starts to beat faster.

Now or never, Kurosaki.

"Umm," I begin.

"Yeah?" he says, shooting a glance at me without turning his head all the way.

I can see our apartment building looming ahead.

"I want to..." I croak. I suddenly can't breathe, so I stop to take a deep breath. "Want to...uhh..."

Goddamn it! I suddenly remember how cool and collected Uryuu had looked when he confessed to me right after high school, and I feel a stab of shame and envy.

"Yeah?" Grimmjow prompts again as we enter the covered parking garage. You need to pay a monthly premium to get a spot here, but I'm not surprised that he's willing to pay for it.

I fiddle with my computer bag and chew on my lower lip. "I kinda want to, umm, you know, tellyasomething." The last part comes out in an incoherent rush, and I cringe when he looks confused.

"What?"

I make the mistake of looking at him in the eye and immediately find myself lost in his gaze. How does someone manage to look so attractive after a whole day of hard labor? His bangs and sideburns are slightly damp with sweat, and he has a smudge of dirt on one side of his jaw. His eyes look a bit tired but they're still as blue and crystal clear as ever. I can't stop staring; the jarring florescent light in the garage is reflected in his eyes, giving his irises iridescent specks that look almost silver.

It's only when I feel puffs of warm air on my face that I realize how close I've gotten to him. My eyes widen and my cheeks become flushed at the same time, but I'm frozen on the spot. It's like his eyes hold some kind of magic that's keeping me trapped there. The thumping in my chest only becomes more erratic at the sight of his face, although I can't tell if I'm terrified or excited.

His expression is unreadable. There's a faint pink tint across his cheek bones and his eyes become half-mast as we continue to stare at each other. He seems tense, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching. Then, something flickers in his eyes and I hear a muttered "fuck it". Before I can interpret what that means, he grabs my face and crushes our lips together.

It's so familiar; the way his tongue invades my mouth uninvited. It's hot and wet and I can't help but moan against his lips. With almost feverish vigor, he hikes my t-shirt up and slides his hand under it. His palm, calloused and warm, sparks a burning trail across my skin.

"Come here," he rasps, and with his help, I manage to climb into his lap without kicking a hole through the dashboard.

His hands roam freely; one of them running up and down my back while the other tugs on my hair. I can't escape even if I want to. He pants harshly, his body strained and frantic in a way I have not seen before. His hand slides down from my back to cup my butt, and he raises his hips to grind against me, arching his back and growling deep in his throat.

My mind screams at me to stop. To wait, wait until I know where we stand. Am I really just a convenient partner or do I actually have a shot at sharing something more meaningful with him?

But I can't stop. For the life of me I can't stop and I'm pressing myself into his body, wishing that I can somehow get even closer.

With a gasp of surprise, I feel my erection being set free from the confines of my jeans. He's tugging at his own pants, cussing and frowning when he fumbles and misses the zipper. I reach down to help and together we finally release him into the cool air. The engine is still running, the air conditioner working hard to compensate for the rising temperature.

We both look down at the erotic sight of his hand wrapping around both of us. His cock throbs against mine and I choke out a string of expletives. It looks so hot; his large hand moving, stroking and tugging our shafts, his thumb running over the tips.

"Oh fuck, fuck," he mutters under his breath, his voice broken by his ragged breaths.

What is it about him—or me?—that seems to turn us into sex-deprived teenagers with raging hormones?

I reach my peak with an embarrassingly loud wail, then I pitch forward and rest my forehead on his shoulder while he keeps going, bucking beneath me a few more times before gripping my hip tightly with his free hand. He continues to move his fist slowly, his chest heaving, then he comes to a stop with a contented sigh.

"What is it that you want to tell me?" he asks suddenly.

Oh god.

I'm so fucking tired. Do I really want to have this discussion now? Surely it can wait another day.

"I forgot," I mumble, pushing the ominous feeling from my mind.

He is silent for a moment, then he says, "Okay."

He opens the door on his side and I climb off of him, shifting slowly so that we don't dirty his car. He grabs a spare towel from the backseat—to use when he goes to the gym?—and begins to wipe himself down.

I stand there and wait for him. If I'm honest with myself, I'm half-hoping that he'd invite me to stay the night.

But he doesn't. He steps out of the car and checks his seat for stains. Out of the blue, a rush of indignation and anger floods my chest. He's checking his fucking _car_ for stains, yet he doesn't even offer to clean _me_. I feel like a fool, disappointed and blatantly ignored, standing there with wet spots on my t-shirt.

"Oh, you don't have to wait for me," he says as if he has just noticed me presence.

"Fine," I snap stiffly and turn my back to him abruptly.

I hear him call out to me, but I clench my jaw and storm off, resisting the urge to look back. I can't believe that I actually thought he might be interested in me. I know now that I'm nothing but a tool, an outlet when he needs one.

I've never felt so stupid before.

* * *

**To be continued…**

**So, people have started to meddle, and Ichi has finally realized his own feelings, except…alas, here's where the angst begin.**

**Now I'm off to reply to all those lovely reviews from you guys! :) *hugs* **


	9. Apology and Courage

**NOTE:****  
**

**It has been brought to my attention today that Ichigo and Grimmjow's interaction eludes to sexual abuse. I'm shocked as I never intended for it to be viewed as such, but since I am fortunate enough to not have a history of sexual abuse, I acknowledge the fact that I don't know what it feels like to have gone through that experience. So if I have offended anyone, please forgive me. Thank you, (you know who you are, if you're still reading this), for letting me know in such a kind way. Needless to say, if anyone feels uncomfortable with such elements, please do not continue reading.**

**Now that we are all clear on what to expect, let's move on, shall we?**

**This chapter is a bit of a challenge for me, and quite possibly, for you as the reader as well. It's a lot of information that I want to convey, and I want to do it in the subtlest way possible. My biggest concern is that it'd be hard to distinguish between the current timeline versus the past, so please do let me know if it becomes confusing. It may not be immediately obvious what actually happened to Grimmjow, but I'm sure it'll click eventually.**

* * *

I watch him walk away—his head held high, strides stiff—until he disappears through the automatic doors that separate the lobby and the garage. My throat constricts until it hurts as I force myself to stand my ground.

No, no more running after people asking for forgiveness. I've had enough of that—

Ah, shit.

The dreaded memories hit me like a tidal wave, and I feel a stab of panic. Images that I haven't thought of for so long, the man I've been trying to forget ever existed, flash in front of my eyelids as if they were new and _real_ and happening all over again. I should've known that I would face this sooner or later. The dream I had the other night—so vivid and accurate down to the smallest detail—had warned me but I had shrugged it off like the idiot that I am.

This is _exactly_ what Nnoitra has been trying to avoid. He's right, why haven't I fucking learned not to put myself in this situation again? I've been doing so well too—finally picking myself up from the blue funk that I've been submersed in for the past few years, working out again, regaining control over my life, rebuilding and relearning who I am, who I _was_.

And then this..._stalker_...this mere _kid_ simply waltzes in and ruins fucking _everything_. I vaguely remember that it was I who started it in the first place, by literally storming into his life and tempting him, basking in the glow of his obvious lust for me, taking advantage of his inability to refuse my advances; yet it infuriates me how, in the end, I have let myself become affected in the worst way possible.

Every time I don't see him, I feel that I'm in control, I'm fine, and I'm _strong_; then every damn time I do, it just makes me realize that I can't keep myself away from him. I can't seem to be able to be in his presence without wanting to touch him, to see him fall apart from the pleasure that _I'm_ giving him. Maybe it's an ego thing, maybe I just get a kick out of knowing how much power I have over him, knowing how easily that I can crush _his_ self control.

Control. It all boils down to that. To be able to decide for yourself what you want to do, how you want to react to something.

"_Did you know...my love, that Operant Conditioning was first studied by an American psychologist named Edward Thorndike? Such a genius, that man, for extracting such a complex biological process by merely observing cats!_"

I stagger into my apartment, my mind reeling from the unwanted recollection of past conversations—all of which were meant to be hints, _tests_, for me to interpret on my own but which I never did until it was too late.

"_Nucleus basalis, a group of neurons in the basal forebrain, are activated and releases acethlcholine_—_Oh, in English, you say? Alright, alright. So there were these two psychologists, deLong and Richardson, who did a scientific study that showed that our brain _reacts_ when it is exposed to conditional stimuli...aww, still too much, love? It's okay, I'm just rambling anyway, don't mind me. I'm just so excited about what I've learned today!_"

Stop.

"_The fuck, Grimm! You've turned soft! Since when do you actually care what people think about you?_"

I crash into my couch, stubbing my toe in the process but not feeling the pain at all. I see Nnoitra in my head—his hair still short at the time, his slanted, dark grey eyes narrowed in annoyance—and I drop into the seat like a sack of bricks.

"_He's just sulking, leave him alone! I don't see why you have to apologize all the time!_"

"_What the fuck has he _done_ to you?_"

My palms are becoming wet from tears that are suddenly falling, unbidden and unwelcome. I rub my eyes, shocked and ashamed that I'm being so fucking melodramatic. Crying is for sissies, for children. I, Grimmjow Jaggerjaques, do not cry. I still myself, taking in deep breaths and closing my eyes to block out everything around me, and eventually I manage to stop shaking. Finally, after god knows how long, I allow myself to collapse into the sofa, exhausted.

After a few minutes, I drag myself to the bathroom and wash myself thoroughly, scrubbing and rinsing away the grime that has collected throughout the day, including Ichigo's...With calmness comes common sense, logic, and all that good stuff that had fled my head earlier. Slowly but surely, remorse begins to creep into my chest.

What have I done?

* * *

_I'm not a very complex person. I'm not the most pleasant man on most days_—_I'm arrogant, competitive, sarcastic, crass, rude; I can go on forever_—_but I'm also proud to say that I'm strong, independent, courageous, loyal. I wouldn't say that I'm very insightful, but I know myself enough to understand that I'm most likely going to grow old and die alone. I can't imagine anyone wanting to spend the rest of their lives with me or trust that I would give them happiness._

_Nah. I'm a confirmed bachelor, just like Nnoitra. And just like him, I'm totally fine with it._

_Then I met him. _

* * *

My life story plays in the back of my head like a rerun of a bad daytime soap opera while I stand in front of Ichigo's door. I've knocked several times but have yet to get a response.

I run a hand through my hair, wringing out the last droplets of water from it. The shower has soothed my nerves, and I feel better now. I'm not freaking out anymore. In its place is a deep, unsettling sense of regret. I don't know what I can do to make up for it, but I suppose talking to him is a good first step.

"_Thank you for the roses, Grimm. You know how much I love them, don't you?_"

I cover my face with both hands. No. This is all _me_. I'm making the conscious decision to come up here and apologize to Ichigo. It's not because...not because...

"What do you want?" Ichigo's gruff voice startles me.

He has a fierce scowl on his face, an expression that I've not seen since the first time I met him. He's clearly still very, very pissed off.

I rub the back of my neck, feeling awkward as hell. Admitting a mistake isn't my forte, so sue me.

"If you're here to apologize, you're not doing a very good job," he snaps.

Letting out a dejected sigh, I mumble to my toes, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to brush you off like that earlier."

Oh. My pride. It hurts. I know, I sound like a douche bag.

I risk a glance at Ichigo's face and feel a rush of relief when his eyes soften slightly. Oh no, his scowl hasn't vanished completely, but at least he looks less like Nnoitra now.

There, mission completed. I've done what I came here to do, and now I can drag my sorry ass back downstairs. He stops me, however, when he asks me if I would like to go in and have a cup of tea. I hesitate. That smells like nothing but trouble. Temptation. A trap.

"Sure," I reply.

This is the second time I'm in his apartment, and I must say that it feels a lot different from the first. For one, _I'm_ not pissed so I'm actually paying attention to what the place looks like. It looks pretty much like mine, just a lot neater and looks more lived-in than mine. There are pictures on the wall, on the book shelves, even next to the television.

"Your family?" I ask, picking up the nearest photo frame.

He takes down two mugs from the cabinet and answers over his shoulder. "Yeah, my dad and my sisters. They're twins."

"Where's your mom?" I blurt out without thinking.

There is a stretch of silence, during which I mentally kick myself in the nuts.

Finally, he says softly, "She passed away when I was nine."

I apologize for the second time tonight, but this time there is no hesitation on my part, and I think he senses it because he actually smiles. He doesn't elaborate, however, so I keep quiet.

For once, I manage to keep my hands to myself and accept the cup he offers without even brushing against his fingers. He makes his way to the couch, and I follow behind him and mimic the way he curls up in the seat. I notice for the first time how graceful he is in a chaste way; his long limbs tucked close against his body with his lean torso bowed towards his knees.

I sip the scalding hot liquid carefully and wait. His body is tense in a way that I can tell that he has something to say. He did mention in the car that he had something to tell me before I distracted him.

"I don't know if you know," he starts, his voice low and more than a little awkward. He sounds like he's out of his element. "I really like you."

My eyes narrow in confusion. I mean, I kind of knew that already, given that he has told me that he has been..."stalking" me for the past four months, so what's the big deal? I tell him as much with a shrug.

His eyes dart away from me for a few seconds. "That's different. I mean I _like_ you, as in I want to get to know you better. More than...this, whatever we have now," he says finally.

Shock. That's the only thing that courses through me. So it's more than physical attraction? I'm not just some random hot stuff that happens to cross his path? I don't know whether to be flattered or to panic all over again. What the hell does he see in me?

"It's okay," he adds hastily. "I know this is, uhh, sudden. I'm not asking for an answer, not immediately, anyway." He pauses and I see a deep blush spread across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. "I just wanted you to know."

The mug of tea is suddenly extremely interesting, and I stare at it; the way steam swirls above the surface of the liquid, how there are bits of tea fragments at the bottom of the cup. In a way, I'm impressed by his forwardness, but now what am I supposed to do? I'm obviously _not _looking for a relationship. In fact, the thought of being in one sends a shiver of terror and dread down my back. I don't want to sound like a fucking therapist and say that I'm "broken" or "I have unresolved issues"; the idea is just…unappealing.

Yet, as I rest my eyes on the young man who's looking at me with clear adoration on his face—how have I not noticed it before?—I find myself unable to outright reject him. At least not in the way I usually do it to people. It's not pretty, I can tell you that.

"Do I at least stand a chance?" he asks, sounding slightly more confident than earlier. Maybe now that he has gotten it off his chest, it's easier to proceed from there. For_ him_, that is. For _me_, it has just begun.

I rub my face vigorously as though rubbing it would somehow make his question go away. I don't want to deal with this shit. It makes me think of...

"_Learning takes place in context, not in the free range of any plausible situation, my love. Behaviors that are under...what they call, 'stimulus control', develop when a particular response only occurs when an appropriate discriminative stimulus is present. In English? They _learn_, darling, the lab rats, they're learning without even knowing, without realizing that they're being taught. Extremely tragic, if you think about it, isn't it?_"

I realize I'm sweating; panting; panicking again. No. This is _me_. Ichigo is asking _me_.

I think Ichigo has noticed my strange behavior. I'm probably turning pale, my lips going dry, my hands shaking. He sits up and puts his cup down on the coffee table, his eyes widening in concern.

"Grimmjow?"

Shit. Control. Take back. Control. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.

I flinch when something touches my hand. It's Ichigo. He has crawled over to me, his brows furrowed in confusion and uncertainty, and he's running his palm along my forearm, no doubt trying to calm me down.

"It's okay, you don't have to give me an answer today," he says.

I know he's disappointed. I can see it in his eyes, the way his mouth is slightly downturned. But he doesn't stop crawling towards me. He's coming closer, closer, until his forehead is resting on mine. Then his fingers are in my hair, holding my face, caressing; petting, even. He smells strongly of our beloved peach body wash. He tastes like mint.

Without even knowing it—at least on my part—we're kissing. In my frozen state I can't overpower him the way I usually do. This is completely different. It's still Ichigo, but different. There is a bit of clumsiness in his movements as though he's not sure of himself, and I realize that this is the first time he's leading a kiss. It's unexpectedly endearing and arousing in a way I've never thought possible. He's not aggressive and rough like I am, yet not sultry and seductive like _he _was.

When we break apart for air, I tell him that he does.

* * *

_The waiter gives me a knowing look as he takes away the last of our dishes from our table. I swallow nervously, my eyes darting around the room. I've been lucky enough to secure a table in one of their smaller, more private dining rooms, but there are still enough spectators around to make me jittery._

_"Are you okay?"_

_I look across the table at my partner, who's looking at me with a concerned frown. I lick my lips and nod. My fingers wrap around the small velvet box that I have tucked inside the interior pocket of my jacket. _

_It's time._

_The couple in the next table next to us stands up to leave, and I use the short distraction to whip the box out and place it in my lap. I grasp it tightly with both hands, my fingers ice cold and stiff from excitement._

_"Grimm? Are you sure?" he asks again, his mouth downturned with worry._

_I straighten up and smile at him. I chuckle inwardly at the look of confusion on his face, then I stand up and walk over to his side of the table. I hide the box behind my back, and, after taking a deep breath, sink down to the carpeted floor on one knee._

_"Szayelaporro Granz, will you marry me?"_

* * *

**To be continued...**

**There, mystery solved! Sort of. Any guesses to what Szayel actually did to Grimmjow? The clues are all in his dialogue! **

**Disclaimer: All the scientific-sounding stuff are taken from an online article. I'm a software engineer, not a psychologist hehe. :P**


	10. Context

**Hiya all you lovely people! So I ran into a bit of a writer's block for the past couple of days. I think chapters 8 and 9 fried my mind and did quite the number on my muse.**

**Hope you'll like this chapter! :)**

* * *

I sit up bolt right on the bed as soon as I'm startled awake by Grimmjow's shout in the middle of the night. The first thing that crosses my mind is "what the fuck!" but when I see his pale, sweaty face, the words wither on my tongue instantly. I've never seen him so colorless, and his eyes—wide and distraught—look like they belong to someone else.

"What's wrong?" I blurt out, and at the same time reaching out to touch his forehead.

He flinches as though my touch burns him, but after blinking and staring at me for a few more seconds, his body relaxes, and he sinks back onto the bed, his brows furrowed and teeth gritted like he's frustrated. He covers his eyes with the back of his hand, hiding his face from me. I'm tempted to tease him by saying that he looks constipated, but this doesn't seem appropriate at the moment, so I wait quietly for him to explain.

The wait stretches from seconds to minutes, and then just as a sense of disappointed settles in the pit of my stomach, he reaches out and holds my wrist. "Bad dream," he croaks, his voice scratchy and tired.

I ask curiously, "What was it about?"

He shifts his hand away from his eyes and takes a peek at me. "I'd rather not say."

I feel a stab of annoyance, but I can't stay mad at someone who looks so haunted. Whatever it is must have been really distressing, though I can't imagine what could possibly scare someone like him. Then my mind flashes back to the strange behaviors that I've observed from him—the strange flustered appearance last night, the occasional loss of his usual suave and cocky manner, his bipolar tendencies during intimate moments—and I find myself wondering if it's related.

Despite my distaste for stereotypical movie plots, I can't help but wonder if there's something in his past that is affecting him. It can't possibly be _me_. I haven't done anything to him.

When I look at him again, his eyes are closed and he seems to have fallen back to sleep. His hand is still wrapped around mine, so I lie down carefully, not wanting to wake him up. It's dark enough outside that I know we still have a few hours left to rest, so I force my mind to put aside all thoughts and try my best to sleep.

I swim in and out of slumber throughout the next few hours. Grimmjow tosses and turns and even steals the duvet, but at least he doesn't wake up screaming again.

Eventually, the sunlight that filtered in through the blinds becomes bright enough to bother me, and I finally drag my sorry, _exhausted_ ass out of bed. I turn off the alarm so that it doesn't go off while Grimmjow's still asleep, then I trudge to my bathroom and push through my morning routine. I try to be quieter than normal, keeping in mind that I'm not alone in this apartment. It feels thrilling in a strange way.

He wakes up while I'm rummaging my closet for something to wear. After a muttered greeting and an obnoxiously loud yawn, he swings his legs over the side of the bed and rubs his face until it's slightly flushed before taking his turn in the bathroom.

My heartbeat remains rapid the entire time as I listen to the water running next door. This is technically our first "morning after". Unfortunately, after our short talk last night, all he told me was that I "stand a chance" before we were distracted by...each other. At the heat of the moment, that was all I needed to hear, but now that I'm fully awake and my sense of logic is with me, it dawns on me that the answer doesn't tell me _anything_.

I still don't know how he really feels about me, and I still haven't the slightest clue about where we stand—are we a couple? Are we simply becoming friends?

I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't realize that he's back in the room until he grabs me from behind. I jump in surprise, and before I have time to do anything else, he spins me around to face him and pulls me into a crushing kiss. I call it crushing because it's so aggressive and overwhelming that I have to fight just to be able to breathe. I become light-headed at first, but then he lets up a little and I finally respond; slipping my hands over the back of his neck and drawing him in closer.

We end up doing it against my closet. The hesitation and doubt I sensed in him yesterday is nowhere to be found. If anything, he seems to be trying to make up for it by being even rougher than usual—almost like he's angry. I soak it all up hungrily, not caring that I might end up walking funny later. Just the sight of his muscles bunching and flexing on his arms and abdomen as he moves is arousing enough to make my head spin, and oh, the sounds—his low, gravelly grunts, the groans, the raspy murmurs of "fuck" that he keeps repeating under his breath—just push me even closer to the edge. The discomfort from having my leg hooked around his hip is nothing compared to the pleasure he's driving into me, over and over again until I climax; my body shuddering involuntarily as I let loose a string of expletives.

He lets me down slowly afterwards, his chest heaving from his own orgasm, and we sink down to the floor with our backs leaning against the closet. I make a face at him to indicate just how worn-out I am, only to have him chuckle at my expense. The fierce scowl on my face does nothing to deter him.

What I don't show, though, is the relief that floods my chest as he seems to have returned to his normal self. Yes, back to his arrogant, shameless self, which is evident in the way he gets dressed slowly in front of me with a devilish smirk on his face.

He gives me a ride to work. Since he'll be working at the same place anyway, he decides to stay here and wait for his friends. I don't want to seem clingy, so I make my way to the back and leave him with his cigarette in front of the shop.

Renji pounces on me like a hyperactive puppy the minute he sees me.

"Did he drive you here?" he asks with a big grin. "Does this mean you guys are _together_?"

I remember how concerned he had been about Grimmjow's attitude and, for a moment, consider lying to him, but I can't. "Yes, he drove me here...but uhh...I'm still trying to figure out the second part."

The cheer on Renji's face drains immediately. "Ichi—"

"I've _told_ him, Ren," I add hastily before he launches into a lecture. I tell him everything—except for the bad dream—and his features turn from annoyed to disturbed.

"It sounds like something's wrong with him," Renji says, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know if this is such a good idea, man."

"Of course it is," I snap a little harsher than I mean to. "I really like him."

"And you guys still..." Renji tries but stumbles on the phrase.

I know what he wants to say. "Yes, we still '_hang out_'," I say. It's not that I want to sound defensive, but I really don't see why Renji is so fucking worried. Having sex doesn't get in the way of us getting to know each other, does it? It's not like there is a possibility of me accidentally getting knocked up. A voice inside my head tells me that there is a small flaw in my logic, but the important part is that I'm happy, isn't it?

"Well I'm sorry for caring," Renji counters bitterly. Before I can apologize and explain myself, he turns around and stomps off. I stare at his back, torn between standing my ground and placating him, but then Geta-boshi chooses that very moment to barge into the office and tell me about the large order that came in during the night. I take one last look at Renji's red pony tail, then sigh and resign myself to the fact that I will have to deal with an angry best friend later.

* * *

I've been both dreading and looking forward to lunch time at the same time, and when it finally arrives I'm so restless that I can't stop shaking my legs under the desk. As usual, Geta-boshi sticks his head into the office—with his hat in tow—and announces loudly that it's time for me to go out to join the rest of humanity.

Should I sit next to him? Should I? Will that seem too obvious? Does he even want his friends to know about..._us_? Wait, is there even an _us_? My stomach twists and cramps as I ponder these questions. It is all for nothing, though. As it turns out, Ilforte and Skinny Freak have already taken up the seats on either side of the man, so I just laugh at myself inwardly and sit down next to Renji.

Renji shifts aside slightly, barely noticeable but it doesn't escape me. A scowl returns to my face. Really? Is it such a big deal? Renji is usually an easy-going guy, I've probably only seen him sulk like that a handful of times throughout our friendship. My mood sours further when he turns—I swear he's doing it intentionally—to Ilforte and starts up a conversation about a television show that I don't know.

Not wanting to seem over-eager, I steal a glance at Grimmjow, who's sitting almost directly across from me. I thought I'm being very subtle, but I'm immediately greeted by a look of utter hatred from Skinny Freak. I look away quickly, my face heating up for no reason. What the _fuck_ is the problem with that man?

Then it suddenly occurs to me—could it be that Skinny Freak has the hots for Grimmjow? Is that why he's so protective of him? Oh! Maybe he hates me because he's _jealous_! I feel an unexpected rush of glee before I quench it hastily, quite horrified that I can be so petulant. My eyes dart to Grimmjow's face again, and this time I manage to catch his eyes. He grins at me through a mouthful of half-chewed burger. Gross.

"So how's the program coming along?" Geta-boshi's voice drags my attention away from Grimmjow's grease-covered lips.

For a second, my mind is completely blank, _then_ it clicks and I shake my head. "Not even half done," I reply honestly.

Ilforte cuts in reassuringly, "And that's perfectly fine. Take all the time you need, as long as you deliver a high-quality piece of work."

I nod absently as I note how Skinny Freak turns his deadly glare from me to his blonde friend instead. All of a sudden, it becomes glaringly obvious. _Ilforte_, for reasons unbeknownst to me, is playing fucking _matchmaker_. What other explanation can there be? Who the hell pays so much money to get a simple piece of software done yet doesn't provide a deadline? I think back about how the man knew to tell about Grimmjow's whereabouts yesterday, and my cheeks flares anew like they're on fire.

The rest of lunch goes by relatively peacefully. The crew returns to the shop to continue their work while I follow Geta-boshi to the back to help with the lunch mess. To my disappointment, Renji immediately sets off on a delivery and I don't get the chance to talk to him. As annoyed as I am with his attitude, having him mad at me weighs heavily on my chest and I can't wait to settle the problem. If we have to duke it out to solve it, then so be it. It would still be miles better than this stupid silent war.

I tie off the garbage bag and make my way to the back door to throw it into the large dumpsters. I'm not really paying attention to my surroundings because I'm thinking hard about what I'm going to say to Renji, so I don't notice that the back lane isn't empty until I have the back door half-open. Luckily for me, the other party is just as oblivious to my presence as I was to theirs. I turn to head back into the shop, but then I catch a familiar name and freeze mid-stride.

"—last time. Ya know Grimm can't go through this again!" Skinny Freak's voice is hushed but high-pitched in agitation.

"The boy is _nothing_ like my brother," Ilforte says. "I can feel it, what they have is—"

"That's beside the point you idiot! Grimm can't handle this," Skinny Freak hisses. "Like it or not, this is not something he can control!"

I swallow thickly. Ilforte's brother? Much as I don't appreciate the name, "the boy" obviously refers to me. This can only mean that...Ilforte's _brother_ is Grimmjow's ex? But what does Skinny Freak mean when he said that Grimmjow "can't handle this"? Handle what? Me? A relationship?

My god. Can this be any more clichéd? Handsome tough guy, hurt by a past love, therefore scarring him forever. Come on, Skinny Freak, Grimmjow is a fucking grownup. Surely he can handle a breakup or two? This infuriates me so much that I change my mind about sneaking back in unnoticed. I step out fully from the door, not caring if I'd be glared to death when Skinny Freak sees me.

Then the man says something that sends a chill down my spine and stops me in my tracks.

"Ya just watch," he says, sounding surprisingly serious. "Grimm's gonna break this kid, I can promise ya that."

* * *

The rest of the day crawls by like a stream of molasses. I find myself unable to concentrate. My eyes are fixed on the computer screen, seeing the words and pictures yet not comprehending them. Skinny Freak's warning replays in my head, over and over again like a broken record.

Can you blame me for feeling a little disturbed? Grimmjow's going to break me, apparently.

Literally? Is that what Grimmjow "can't control"? His temper? Maybe he has some violent tendencies and might end up "breaking" me that way? I know Grimmjow is strong and aggressive, if his preferences in bed is anything to go by, but is he actually dangerous enough to pose a physical threat? I'm not some weakling—in fact I'm actually pretty sufficient in self defense techniques, not that I'm bragging—but I also know that when it comes down to brute strength, Grimmjow's heavier and bigger than I am.

Shit, I can't stop speculating, and it's driving me nuts. Now I'm not sure what to think. Did Grimmjow's ex break up with him over domestic abuse? But if that's the case, why would it be "Grimm can't go through this again"? Wouldn't it be the other way around? And I'm not like the ex. How so? Different as in I can take care of myself? Different as in I won't trigger Grimmjow's temper? Different as in...

I clutch a fistful of my hair and groan in frustration. I _have_ to stop guessing. This is killing me. To make this worse, I can't talk to anyone about it. Renji's still pissed off and I know that this news will just upset him more even if I manage to get him to talk to me again.

I consider cornering the two men and asking them to clarify, but that would be admitting that I've been eavesdropping. Call me prideful, call me stupid, but that just doesn't appeal to me. I don't want to sound like a scared little kid either. And asking Grimmjow is out of the question. It's obvious that his friends had intentionally had that conversation behind his back. I'd end up not only sounding crazy but also a snitch.

What the hell should I do?

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Not much angst in this chapter, but I hope I manage to convey Ichigo's confusion and suspicions well enough. The main point I want to make with this chapter is the fact that Ichigo has no idea what's up with Grimmjow. He's seeing some hints of trouble but he has no context. And as you can see, the little bit of "context" he got by accident is leading him down a completely wrong path! xD I'm evil and I love it!**


	11. First Date

**So after losing my muse for this story for a few days, I finally picked it up again. For some weird reason, my brain flips from "oh hey I can **_**totally**_** see this from Ichigo's POV" to "I AM GRIMMJOW!" to and fro like a freaking metronome. Today, I'm feeling very Grimmjow. :)**

* * *

I'm in the middle of my last smoke break - the end of the work day barely an hour away - when someone taps me on the shoulder from the back. Assuming it's the idiot, Nnoitra, I turn around and blow a mouthful of smoke right into...

"That's gross!" Ichigo coughs and backpedals away from me, waving his hand in front of his face to rid the air of smoke.

I laugh and squish out the cigarette butt on the floor. "Sorry, thought you were—"

"Skinny Freak, I figured," Ichigo mumbles.

Before I can ask what a Skinny Freak is, a water bottle is thrust into my face. I break into a wide grin and accept it. As I pop it open and chug it down, Ichigo leans against the exterior wall of the shop and watches me. From the corner of my eyes, I can see the stormy look in his; the warmth in those eyes that I've come to like so much are dark with the mixture of uncertainty and frustration.

"What's wrong?" I ask. I cross my fingers behind my back and hope that he's not going to ask me about that damn dream.

Ichigo huffs and furrows his brows as though he's contemplating how he should phrase his words.

"C'mon, just spit it out," I prompt, my curiosity piqued.

He heaves a sigh. "Your friend hates me," he blurts.

Ah. I should've expected this. Nnoitra is never one for subtlety. I had wanted to talk to him about it, but with everything that's going on, it slipped my mind. I cross my arms over my chest and rest my back against the wall next to Ichigo. I figure honesty is best, although that doesn't mean I will tell him everything.

"He's a good friend," I say, choosing my words carefully. "See, I've had this bad experience before..." Oh, understatement of my life. "And Nnoi thinks that I might...get into the same situation..." I pause for a bit just to see how Ichigo's taking it. His gaze doesn't waver. "...with you. He's worried, you know, that...bad things will happen."

"Bad things?" he echoes. I sense a hint of disbelief in his tone. "Like what?"

Oh, for example, I might _think_ I've fallen in love, only to find that it's all in my head, then I'd freak out and maybe get myself killed. Or worst, somehow cause Nnoitra to lose his other eye. That's all, no biggie.

I shrug instead and settle for the ever vague "Just...stuff." I feel so juvenile saying shit like that, but really, please don't make me relive everything. Already, I'm remembering a lot of things that I've shoved aside for so long, things that I thought I won't ever have to think of again. Trust me when I say I really, _really_, do not want to go there.

"Look," Ichigo says, his voice suddenly hard enough to halt my thoughts in their tracks. I stare at him and feel something shift in my stomach. "I've been honest about how I feel about you, while you've just been dodging. Maybe you have your reasons not to...I dunno, tell me certain things, but I need to know one thing."

The uncomfortable lump in my gut grows.

He takes a deep breath. "I just need to know if you're interested at all," he continues. A delicate pink stain spreads across his cheeks, but he goes on. "If you're interested in...getting to know me better, to go beyond whatever we have right now. Maybe start dating..." He rubs his forehead and scowls. "God, this is fucking awkward," he mutters under his breath.

I'm impressed. He's stuttering a little and blushing like there's no tomorrow, but he hasn't backed down. I wonder if I'm the first guy he has ever confessed to.

But I digress. That's not important. What's important is that he's now looking at me expectantly, waiting for an answer. An answer that I'm not sure I'm ready to give. The boy has no idea what he's getting himself into. I rub my face with both hands, not caring that my palms are grimy and stink of metal and wood. Call me paranoid, call me cowardly, you can call me whatever the fuck you want; I have my reasons. Nnoitra's right—this is shaky ground, but there's one thing that I'm sure my best friend hasn't thought of.

It's not just _me_ that's on the line. If things go south, Ichigo will be ruined, too.

"Okay, I think I know what your answer is," Ichigo's voice rouses me from my internal debate.

I raise my head in alarm, recognizing the dejected tone for what it is. "Wait!" I exclaim impulsively. Ichigo has half-turned towards the front door, and without thinking, I push myself off of the wall and grab his arm.

Two seconds later it dawns on me. Who the hell am I fooling? I don't want my little stalker to leave.

"Listen." I pull him closer to me and lean down to whisper in his ear. "I can't promise anything, but I am—I'm interested, it's just...there are some things that I need to figure out."

I don't know when it started, but my heart's now beating so fast and so loudly that I think Nnoitra would be able to hear it from inside the shop. My blood is boiling with adrenaline, in a way not unlike what I feel when I'm at the very top of a peak on a roller coaster. Except, unlike a roller coaster, I don't have a safety harness to cling to.

My next words come out in a rush. "It won't be easy. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Ichigo nods, his breath light and ticklish on my neck. "Okay," he says with surprising calmness.

Oh, he has _no _clue what he just signed up for.

* * *

Ichigo returns indoors five minutes before I do. By the time I amble over to grab my work gloves, he's nowhere to be found. I guess he's in that tiny little office. If he's like any other sane person, he'd be in there bashing his own head for offering himself to someone like me. Seriously, I don't know what he sees in me. I wouldn't be surprised if he comes out later and tells me that it has all been a mistake.

Now, I wonder how _that_ would feel.

Just as I straighten up to head over to lend a hand to Ilforte, a bulky figure steps in my way. A pair of narrowed, russet-colored eyes stare rudely at me; the owner not bothering to mask the look of distaste in them.

"What is it, Abarai?" I grit out, instantly disliking the confrontational aura that's wafting from the red-haired store clerk.

"What is Ichigo to you?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

I raise an eyebrow. See, if he had asked me nicely, I might've answered him truthfully, but now he has just pissed me off. "What is Ichigo to _you_?" I sneer.

Abarai's eyes go wide for a split second and I swear his ears turned red, but I don't have time to linger on that right now. Even though we haven't raised our voices, I can sense the tension climbing in the room. I feel Ilforte's wary gaze upon us, and judging from the sound of Nnoitra's footsteps, he's walking towards us.

"What's going on?" Nnoitra asks testily as he pulls up next to the redhead.

Abarai stabs his finger at me. "I was just asking him what Ichigo is to him," he explains, much to my surprise. I thought he's just being a dick like Nnoitra, and I can't imagine Nnoitra clarifying his hostility to anyone.

Nnoitra's good eye narrows dangerously as he turns to me. "Yeah, Grimm," he says in a sickly sweet tone that sends a chill through my limbs. "I wanna know too. What's Ichigo ta ya?"

Shit.

I look from Abarai to Nnoitra, my mouth beginning to go dry as I note the almost identical expressions on their faces. What the fuck. Nnoitra is supposed to be on _my_ side! I'm shocked and dismayed, but it lasts only for about a second before the feeling of indignation brings forth a more primal reaction.

"It's none of your fucking business," I spit defensively.

"It _is_ when Ichi's my best friend," the redhead says immediately. He unfolds his arms and curls his hands into fists, holding them at his sides at the ready.

I laugh in his face. The notion of him actually exchanging blows with me is hilarious. "You think this is some playground fight? I'll hit you if you hit my best friend? Well guess what, Ichigo is a grown man. You have no right to question what he does with me," I taunt, enjoying the look of hatred written on the redhead's features.

"And I take it that means I have no right to question what you do either," Nnoitra's biting words reach my ears. I don't show it, but I cringe inwardly. I've never heard him use such an icy tone with me.

I meet my friend's cold hard stare; his dark grey eye laced not only with anger but also with something worse—disappointment. My knuckles pop as I clench my fists. I don't want to do this to Nnoitra, but I can't back down now. It's not just a matter of pride. I've had enough of overprotective friends. This is as good an opportunity as any other to finally tell Nnoitra to back off about Ichigo, especially if I'm really going to try to take things a little further with him.

"Yeah, you got it right," I reply stiffly, struggling not to let any hesitation enter my voice. I flick my gaze to the right and catch Ilforte just as he is lowering his eyes to the floor. He looks torn, like he's not sure if he should side with Nnoitra or me. I _know_ he wants me to be with Ichigo, if his poorly-disguised efforts of matchmaking is anything to go by, but I think he never expected the conflict to escalate to this level.

I feel yet another wave of deja vu as I think about our situation. The strain, the awkwardness, the rift; it has happened before, just once, long ago—long enough for me to pretend that it never happened but not long enough for me to completely forget it, especially since it revolved around the same topic.

Abarai looks between Nnoitra and I, the expression on his face indicating that he has sensed that there is something else going on. His features soften slightly, replaced with a hint of confusion. I ignore him. This has turned into a battle between Nnoitra and I. I hate to do this, I really do, but I've just given my word to Ichigo. If I really want it to work, I have to do it on my own terms. I can't have Nnoitra whispering poisonous words in my ears all the time. It would kill our future before it even begins.

For the longest moment, I stare at my best friend, our eyes never leaving each other; then Nnoitra does something he has never done before. He backs down. There's a heavy sense of defeat as his shoulders slump ever so slightly, and he gives me a look that tells me that I've let him down. Then he turns his back to me and goes back to what he was doing before this whole thing started. I stare blankly at him, speechless out of disbelief. I've never seen seen him do this, and despite my determination not to let it affect me, it does. I know what this means.

Nnoitra has given up on me.

* * *

I suppose it's a good thing that Ichigo was in the office when our hushed but heated exchange took place. I don't think he heard anything. He comes out of the office after work with a bright grin on his face and makes a beeline for me. The sense of trepidation in my chest dissipates slightly as I note the creases at the corners of his eyes. Now that I think about it, he doesn't do this often—smile, that is. The only time I remember is when he caught me pretending to look at the wall clock when I was actually staring at him.

I don't want to seem cocky, but I'm pretty sure his good mood has to do with me.

He hops into my car and I drive us home. He doesn't notice the distance between Nnoitra and I, which is good. I have no intention to tell him about what happened. I know it'll just make him feel guilty.

It's surprising how much I feel like I've known him for a long time. We've only started talking for what...a week? Yet I don't think of him as a stranger. Maybe it's because he always knows exactly what to do with me.

"Are you alright?"

I turn into my parking spot and kill the ignition before I nod. "Yeah, I'm fine," I reply.

_No, not really. I've just pissed my best friend off and I think it's serious this time. I think I might've pushed him away for good, ya know? _

Nah, telling Ichigo would not help.

"'Kay, if you say so," Ichigo says, sounding completely unconvinced. He slings a large laptop bag over his shoulder and walks by my side as we make our way to the automatic doors.

I remember, just yesterday evening, he had walked through these exact doors, driven away by my selfishness. A part of me tries to justify it as a reflex, an instinct to protect myself, but another voice also tells me that it's about fucking time to get my act back together. If Ichigo has the guts to confess to me, then _I_ have the balls to try.

We decide to shower at our own apartments before meeting at the lobby to go out for dinner together. It takes me a while before I realize it, but there's a bounce in my step; a sense of excitement that I haven't felt in years. I'm pleased to find that this doesn't invite another onslaught of unwanted memories. I feel _free_, knowing that this is completely me.

Dinner is comfortable and slow, our conversation light. For once, we're not tearing each other's clothes off. I learn more about his mother's accidental death, how he harbors remorse over the incident even now. We talk about his college life. I tell him about my turbulent childhood and how I met Nnoitra and Ilforte.

Afterwards, I invite him to my apartment. Just for after-dinner coffee, nothing else, I promise myself. Ichigo's face is unreadable. Does he think that I simply want to sleep with him again? The truth is, I do, of course I do, but now doesn't seem to be the right time.

We are watching Chopped on The Food Network when we both crack. We're sitting side by side on the couch, my arm slung casually over his shoulder in a familiar but chaste manner.

When the second chef leaves the show, Ichigo drops his head on my shoulder and rests his palm on my thigh.

The effect is instant, whether I want it or not. I manage to hold in my urges until his fingertips begin to trace small circles over that spot. The playful touches become teasing, and before I can stop myself, I've pulled him into my arms, our lips crushed tightly together. He lets out a soft moan that sounds almost like a whine. I wonder if he's fighting against some sort of self control as well. Well, if he is, it's a lost cause.

I lay back length-wise across the couch, my head raised on the hand-rest. Ichigo climbs into my lap, his face becoming increasingly flushed. His breaths go from rapid to ragged, and mine match his unconsciously. Our teeth and tongue clash, both wanting to dominate but neither willing to yield. It's oddly fun, and we end up laughing half way. I take advantage of the opening and sneak my tongue past his parted lips, and he practically melts against me; one hand delving into my hair while the other snakes under and into my t-shirt.

The urgency tapers off slightly when we finally face each other without anything between us; our clothes strewn all over the carpet. He cups the sides of my face and brings our foreheads together, the gesture both gentle and sincere. His pants slow down, and for a few seconds I'm afraid to move, for fear of shattering what feels like a very special, intimate moment.

Then as quickly as it happened, he snaps out of it and presses his lips on mine once again. His warm, smooth palms seem to reach everywhere at once; massaging and rubbing circles on my chest and hips, ghosting over the throbbing, hot flesh of my erection, caressing my inner thighs. At first I try to stay in control and return the favor, nipping on his lower lip and kneading his supple bottom, but when he wraps his fingers around my cock and starts pumping slowly, I lose it and just let my head fall back against the hand-rest. I arch my back, effectively thrusting up into his fist, and he chuckles softly into my ear, his lips brushing over my jaw.

When the pleasure that's welling deep in my belly threatens to spill, I grab his waist and yank him up so that he's straddling my abdomen instead. I nuzzle his neck and reach around him to tease his entrance, my fingers circling, touching but not entering until he bucks back into my hand.

As he finally lowers himself onto me, the moan that leaves his lips rings loud and long and steals my voice. My eyes follow his youthful, innocent features: the slight frown from the ache of the invasion; the way his moist, kiss-swollen lips part as he breathes through his mouth; the sweat that dots his brow; his eyes, clenched shut so tightly that his forehead creases from the effort. He looks absolutely stunning, every bit as beautiful as the first day I set eyes on him; standing dripping wet with nothing but a towel around his waist.

After he wrings the last drop of my release from me, he collapses on my body, exhausted and sated. I hesitate at first, the wariness that has been etched into my being warring silently with my impulse to embrace him. This is _me_, I repeat in my head as I slowly wrap my arms around his lithe form.

This is _all me_.

* * *

**To be continued…**

**I don't know if I'm just being paranoid, but I got the feeling that the previous chapter wasn't all that popular…is it because there's not much plot movement? Is the pace too slow? Let me know, okay? Hopefully this chapter makes up for whatever Chap 10 lacked!**

**As for this chapter, I hid a tiny hint of an upcoming plot twist in there somewhere (yay foreshadowing!)…I'm excited to see if anyone manages to spot it! :D**


	12. Best Friends

**Thanks for the reviews, guys! :) I appreciate the reassurances and feedback! The story is moving along, hopefully not too fast this time. Some of you caught the foreshadowing in the previous chapter, but I'm not going to say what it is! :P**

**I'm a little behind on replies, please forgive me! I'll get to them as soon as I can. :)**

* * *

"You did _what_?"

Renji scratches the back of his head with a sheepish look on his face, his eyes straying to the ground as I shout in disbelief.

"_Why_ would you do that you _idiot_!" I bury my face in my palms and groan, the excitement that I was feeling earlier now replaced by dread.

I had gone to Renji first thing in the morning, as soon as I arrived at the shop, to tell him about our progress, fully expecting him to finally stop sulking and be happy for me. Instead, he tells me that he had had a confrontation with Grimmjow just the day before.

"No wonder he was so bummed yesterday," I mutter. It makes sense now. If Renji's description is accurate, it sounds like Grimmjow's falling out with Skinny Freak may be a little more serious than what Renji and I had.

Renji crouches down in front of the office chair where I'm currently seated, and rests his hand on my knee and gives it a brief squeeze. "I'm really sorry, I was just so worried, you know?" he says, his lips downturned, showing his own dismay at the situation. "I thought you were never gonna ask, so I..."

I swallow the urge to strangle him and settle for a heavy sigh. "So you take it upon yourself to...ahh, Renji, you little..." I bend over and rest my elbows on my thighs, my face now hovering just a few inches away from Renji's. I search his face and see nothing but regret and concern there, and I know I can't stay mad at him. I give him a punch on the shoulder, one that's a little harder than our usual playful ones, and heave another sigh. "Well, I'll ask him how bad it is later. They've known each other for about as long as I know you, maybe it'll just blow over," I add hopefully.

But secretly I doubt it. Both Skinny Freak and Grimmjow seem like really prideful and stubborn people. Sure, Renji and I are stubborn too, and we butt heads all the time, but we're both not ashamed to show a little bit of sensitivity now and then as long as the shit stays between the two of us. No matter how I picture it, I just don't see either of the older men having even the smallest shard of sentimental bone on them. Much as I hate Skinny Freak, the last thing I want is for them to have a row over _me_, of all things.

I tell Renji about my suspicion, that maybe the reason Skinny Freak is so upset is because he likes Grimmjow. The face I get in return is priceless - Renji's eyebrows disappear completely under his bandana, and I swear his face turned a light shade of green. I don't even want to know what kind of mental image the closet pervert has conjured up in his head.

"No fucking way," he sputters, still looking horrified. "I can't imagine either one of them..."

"Bottoming?" I finish for him, my lips quirking into a smirk despite the knot in my stomach.

"Y-yeah," Renji nods.

I tilt my head to the side and think about them for a little longer. "Nah, I'm probably wrong," I say, remembering the way Grimmjow talked about his friends over yesterday's dinner. The friendship he spoke of is one of chaste camaraderie, a tight-knit brotherhood, almost. "I don't think it's possible. Just imagine you having the hots for _me_! That's just all kinds of wrong, man," I add finally, snorting at the image.

Renji doesn't respond for a while. When he does, his voice is oddly quiet. "Yeah," he agrees. He looks downcast, and I feel bad for him because I'm sure he feels guilty for indirectly starting the rift between the two men.

"Don't worry about it, Ren," I tell him, patting him on the shoulder. "I'll talk to Grimmjow. Hell, Skinny Freak seems to hate my guts all along anyway, it's about time I talk to him, you know?"

My best friend gives me a small smile, and we exchange a fist bump before I return to the computer while he leaves the office for another delivery run.

* * *

In the end, the logical side of me wins and I decide to wait until we get home before I ask Grimmjow about his situation with Skinny Freak. But now that I know about it, I do notice how they maintain a wide berth between them. It looks really weird, with both of them kind of going through poor Ilforte to get their ends done. I can see that the blonde is exasperated but he doesn't say anything.

They're almost done, anyway. I don't know anything about hardwood flooring, but it looks like there's only a small section of the shop left before the entire floor is covered. I can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment, knowing that I won't get to see Grimmjow everyday after they're done with the work here, but then I remind myself that he lives right below me and immediately feel like an idiot.

I hitch a ride home with him again after work. We stop at a pizza place half way to pick up a large one to share, then we go to his place. I bring my laptop with me so that I can work on the side project for Cero Constructions. It's been sitting on my lap for a few days and I really need to get it done. It feels weird, knowing that Ilforte hired me just so that I have a reason to be closer to Grimmjow, and for some reason I just want to get it out of my hair. Renji, Skinny Freak, Ilforte - they're all the same, each trying to interfere in their own ways. I'm sure they all have the best intentions, but seriously, we're both grown ups, and true to what Grimmjow had said to Renji, they have no right to question what we do.

Alas, my plan to talk to him about Skinny Freak right after dinner dies a premature death when he pounces on me as soon as we finish the last slice of pizza. I've hardly finished cleaning my fingers when he knocks me onto my back on the couch and pins me beneath his body. It doesn't take long for us to undress each other; the actions so familiar by now. Neither of us last very long, and afterwards, he rests his forehead on mine for a moment before flipping us over so that he doesn't crush me with his heavier weight.

Finally, while I'm still draped lazily across his chest, I breach the subject. "I heard you and Nnoitra had an argument," I comment casually.

Grimmjow frowns. "Fucking red-haired snitch," he growls in annoyance.

"Hey," I say immediately. "He means well."

"Tch," Grimmjow rolls his eyes and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of my neck. "It's not a big deal, I'm sure he exaggerated."

I lift my upper body off of him and run my hand up and down his torso, admiring the well-defined ridges of the muscles under the tanned skin. "Why don't you tell me your version, then?" I ask.

He blows out a long-suffering sigh and tucks an arm behind his head. "I told you, it's not a big deal-"

"You're doing it again," I point out, struggling to keep my voice neutral. "Dodging my questions, not talking, brushing me off...can't you just tell me what happened? Much as I don't like Skinny Freak, I don't want you two to have any problems because of me."

His eyes widen slightly with recognition. "So _Nnoitra_ is Skinny Freak, I've been wanting to ask you about that," he says with a smirk. Then he glances at me and rubs his temples when he sees the determined gaze I'm training on him. "Fine, okay, we had a fight. Like I said, he thinks I might run into issues if I start a relationship. It's nothing personal, Ichi, it's just...I told you I had a bad experience, and...and Nnoi just doesn't want it to happen again. I don't like him interfering, so we fought. That's all there is to it." He stops here and quirks his eyebrows at me. "_Now_ can we talk about something else?"

I stare at him, processing the information he just gave me. There's nothing new there. I already know the part about Skinny Freak being worried about him, but what I don't get is why Skinny Freak acts like it would be the end of the world if Grimmjow has another failed relationship - not that I would want that to happen. What on earth happened last time that made Skinny Freak so paranoid?

"So something really bad happened between you and Ilforte's brother huh?" I ask, my curiosity prompting me to prod before my brain has the time to process the implications of my question.

As soon as Grimmjow freezes, I know I've overstepped a line.

"Who told you that?" he asks stiffly, lifting his head from the couch slowly to pin me with an icy glare.

I cringe inwardly. "I...I overheard. Nobody told me anything," I explain. Great, now I'll have to tell him that his friends had talked about him behind his back. This is just brilliant. Open mouth, insert foot, Kurosaki.

To my surprise, he doesn't repeat the question even though I haven't replied. Maybe he's used to his friends discussing this topic secretly? Or maybe he's just too angry now to care about details. I swallow thickly as he sits up completely and untangles his limbs from mine. I stare at his hands, which are balled into tight fists that look like they can easily punch through a dry wall. Minutes tick by in silence. His eyes remains open and dark, looking dead ahead at the television. His entire frame is tense, his shoulders unnaturally squared and rigid.

Finally, I can't stand the strain anymore, so I reach out carefully to touch his arm. I expect him to flinch away to show his anger at me, but he doesn't react at all. It's like he hasn't even noticed my touch.

"Grimmjow?" I call softly, wary of startling him.

The muscles on his angular jaw flex; the only sign that he has even heard me.

"Hey," I whisper, resting my palm a little more forcefully on his arm. "Talk to me."

Another stretch of uncomfortable silence goes by before he finally unfurls his fists and covers his eyes with his palm. "Leave me the fuck alone," he says, his voice hoarse and filled with a deep sense of defeat.

"What?" I shake him roughly, and he rocks in place, not really resisting me but not relenting either. It feels like I'm moving a puppet. "No! Enough of this mysterious shit, if you're sincere about wanting to-"

He cuts me off, shrugging my arm away dismissively. "I told you it's not going to be easy. I warned you," he rasps without looking at me.

What the fuck. Just because he has told me that it's not going to be easy, I'm supposed to accept this kind of behavior? I don't understand why he's acting the way he is, like he's retreating into himself and effectively slamming the door in my face in the process. All this...over an old breakup? Well, I've broken up with someone too, does that mean I get to throw a tantrum as well?

As I ponder the unfairness of it all, the concern I have for him turns into exasperation, which eventually morphs into biting resentment. How many times do I have to be brushed aside for me to understand just how little I mean to this man? Sure, he says he wants to try, but if he shuts down at the first sign of trouble, like this, it's never going to work out no matter how hard _I_ try.

I scramble to my feet, my stomach tying itself into a knot. Fine, if he wants me to "leave him the fuck alone", then I shall do that. As I put my clothes on, instead of anger, all I feel is disappointment - the kind that settles deep in my bones and makes me feel heavy and tired. I don't have the strength or energy to placate him right now. Maybe tomorrow, when we both feel better, we can sit down and go over this. Maybe when he has calmed down, he will see that the only reason I ask these questions is because I care about him.

"Don't give me that look," he says suddenly, his face still turned stubbornly away from me. "If you're so goddamn disappointed then just leave. I never asked you to stick your dick into my life in the first place."

I never thought it's possible to feel so much shock and humiliation and pain that my body just goes completely numb. I always thought that people are just being melodramatic when they say shit like that, but now I know. The second the words register in my head, the jacket that I've been holding slips out of my hand and lands in a heap on the carpet. I don't even bother picking it up before stumbling away from the living room, the only conscious thought in my head being that I need to get as far _away_ from this man as possible.

What have I been thinking, opening myself to such a selfish bastard? I feel like the biggest idiot in the world. Renji's right, he has always been right, and that just makes me hate myself more because I had actually defended Grimmjow, thinking that I know him. What a fucking joke.

I fumble with the door handle, my fingers cold and stiff and I just can't get them to work properly. I hear a frustrated growl, recognizing it as my own voice without even realizing that I've made that sound. When the latch finally releases, I fling the door open with all the strength I can muster and run.

* * *

"Fuck, Ichi, what happened?"

I don't even know how I managed to get myself to Renji's house. I must've run all the way, judging from how wobbly my legs feel. I don't remember who answered the door, but whoever it was must've recognized me and had the sense to get Renji before I collapse out of sheer exhaustion on their precious marble floor. So here I am, slumped almost bonelessly against my best friend as he staggers under my weight.

"Get me some towels, will you, and hot tea," I vaguely hear Renji's voice, presumably talking to one of the handful of servants who live with him. "What kind? I don't care what kind, just gimme tea!"

I chuckle, and I feel Renji shift to pat my cheek as though he's trying to wake me up. That's just plain silly because I'm not drunk. I haven't touched a single drop of alcohol. I'm just extremely worn-out and still reeling from shock at the way I was kicked out of Grimmjow's apartment. Renji practically has to half-carry, half-drag my sorry ass upstairs into his room, where he dumps me onto his very big, very comfortable King-sized bed. The minute my back hits the silky sheets, I start laughing.

"Shit, you're freaking me out!" Renji shakes me by the shoulders and slaps me lightly again. "Snap out of it! What the fuck happened? Is it Grimmjow? Did he hurt you? Are you injured?"

On hindsight, I suppose his assumption makes sense, given the limited information he has about Grimmjow. He knows that the man is aggressive, especially in bed, so I don't blame him for jumping to that conclusion. It's kind of funny, but you know what's the saddest part? The saddest, sickest part is that, the first thing that crosses my mind is that I'd rather he hurt me that way.

I drape the back of my arm over my eyes and let my laughter die down before I reply. "No, this has nothing to do with sex, Ren."

The bed dips as Renji climbs into it to sit cross-legged next to me. "Then what is it?" he asks.

What is it? A very bruised dignity and a shattered dream, that's what. This is so pathetic. We lasted what, all of one day? I've had food poisoning that lasted longer than that.

"You were right," I mumble, staring unblinkingly up at the patterned ceiling. "I know you asked me not to make you say 'I told you so', but..." I chuckle mirthlessly. "He asked me to leave, said he never asked me to 'stick my dick in his life'."

Renji bares his teeth, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl.

"My dick, ha! He's the one who sticks his-" My rant is interrupted when Renji abruptly uncurls his legs from beneath him with a stormy look on his face. "Ren? Wait, where're you going?"

Renji ignores me and climbs off the bed, the muscles of his forearms bulging from the way he's cracking his knuckles.

Realization dawns suddenly and I lunge after my best friend. No, no, no, not a fight. Not over me. No matter how the fight goes down, at the end of the day both of them are people whom I care about. I don't want to see them hurt, especially not over a decision that I made on my own. I took a risk and learned things the hard way. Sure, it hurts to be rejected by someone I've been obsessed with for so long, but ultimately the responsibility is mine to bear.

"Just...stay here, please," I tug on Renji's sleeve and pull him back towards the bed. "I didn't come here to recruit you for a fight." I feel a little embarrassed about what I'm about to say, so I scratch my head and mumble, "I'm here because I need someone to talk to."

I hold my breath as I read Renji's face. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry before. He can look very scary with his height and figure, but I've known him for so long that I don't even notice it anymore. But now I can see just how fierce he can be, his six foot two frame tense and practically crackling with almost-tangible fury. It's touching to see how protective he is of me, but this is not what I need from him.

"Look, I'm fine," I reassure him. "I just, uhh," I run my fingers through the tangled mess on my head, cringing at how grimy they are from the sweat that came from the long run from my apartment. "I kinda need a place to crash for a bit." I can't bring myself to go back there now. I don't know if I can resist the urge to go see him, to confront him. In my current state, I don't think that'll be a good idea.

Renji's eyes widen in understanding, then he nods. I breathe a sigh of relief as I watch the tension drain from his body. That's a close one. As he bustles about the room gathering toiletries and whatnot for me, I slowly trudge back to his bed and throw myself onto it once more.

Looks like I'll be here for a while.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**So what'd you think? Trouble ahead? :P**

**A sneak preview of the next chapter: we will finally see Szayel's reaction to Grimmjow's proposal! Hope you're excited for that!**


	13. The Proposal

**Ah, I see many RenIchi fans amongst us. :P Thanks again for reading! And here we are, the moment we've been waiting for...**

* * *

_"Szayelaporro Granz, will you marry me?"_

_For a moment, the small but tastefully decorated dining room goes completely silent. The soft chattering from neighboring tables ceases. All I hear is my heart going "thump, thump, thump" like a Taiko drum. I feel a bead of sweat form and trickle down from my temple, tickling my skin as it slides slowly down the side of my face._

_Five seconds._

_Ten seconds. My hand trembles slightly from excitement and I clutch the opened ring box a little tighter._

_Come on, babe, what are you waiting for? Say yes. Say yes._

_Finally, after what seems like hours, he speaks. "Oh my," he says. He fumbles with his glasses, looking flustered. "I can't believe this, oh, this is..."_

_My face breaks into a wide grin. He looks so surprised and touched that I can't help but feel proud of myself for putting the proposal together so flawlessly. I wait expectantly for the 'yes' that I'm sure he's going to say in the next few seconds._

_"Oh, Grimmjow, my dear," he giggles. He reaches out and gently strokes my cheek, stopping to tuck a few strands of my sideburn behind my ear. "I can't even tell you in words how happy I am right now." He removes his glasses and wipes his eye with a one of his long, elegant fingers. "I'm so happy because my work is finally done! Now, after so long, I can finally conclude one of the most groundbreaking study in the history of human psychology!"_

_I rear back in confusion, retracting my hand unconsciously. What does his research have anything to do with this? I know he's a workaholic and all, but this is hardly the place nor time to discuss his work. I open my mouth to question him, but he stops me with a finger on my lips._

_"Of course you're confused," he says with another giggle. He pats my cheek tenderly like one would do to a young child, a gesture that I've come to recognize as a sign that means he's feeling pleased with me. He plucks the velvet box from my hand and closes it, then he places it on the dining table. "Come, have a seat."_

_I look around and notice that the dining room is now empty; the other patrons no doubt having fled when they sensed that something is clearly wrong with my situation. I silently thank their tactfulness and return to my seat. I'm slightly alarmed, but I still feel confident that he will eventually say yes. Perhaps he just wants to give a speech about how much he loves me before he accepts the proposal. Silly, but it's something he would do._

_He places his glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. As I stare at him in silence, he steeples his fingers under his chin and gazes at me lovingly. I wait patiently for the speech._

_"No doubt you're wondering why I haven't said yes," he begins._

_I nod, smiling at his penchant for melodrama. _

_He pushes his bangs out of his face and continues, "Let me begin from when we first met." He looks at me inquiringly, and I shrug my consent. "As you know, we met three years ago at a Christmas party hosted by my dear brother, Ilforte. At the time_—_please correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe I am quite right_—_you were notorious for being a player, constantly changing partners and bedding men and women alike."_

_An uncomfortable lump begins to form in the pit of my stomach, but I remain quiet and wait for him to go on. Perhaps he wants to praise me about how much I've changed over the years?_

_"Among all the bachelors my brother knows, he told me that you're the most stubborn, the one most certain to remain as a bachelor forever. That's when an idea began to form in my head. As I'm sure you remember, at the time, I had just started my doctorate at the university, studying psychology, specializing in human behavioral patterns. Even _more_ specifically, applied behavioral analysis. Are you still with me?"_

_Still as clueless as ever, I nod wordlessly._

_"Wonderful. Now let me explain to you what that means exactly. The textbook explanation of applied behavioral analysis is that...it's a type of analysis that is based on the traditional theory of behaviorism to _modify_ human behavior through a learning or treatment process. In other words, you can literally _train_ a person, essentially change the person's behavior as you wish!" _

_He stops and licks his lips, his face flushed from excitement. I stare blankly at him as he brings his glass to his lips and sips from it before he continues, "Alas, like most ongoing, unproven ideas, it is frowned upon to conduct elaborate studies on humans, especially one that may leave permanent behavioral modifications behind. So instead, scientists experiment with cats, mice, primates...but where is the excitement in that? Its true power lies in its application on human beings!"_

_I swallow thickly and watch him take another sip of water._

_"Unfortunately, the current application of such techniques on humans is...limited, to say the least. It is believed that you can only 'modify' a person to a certain extent, and so it is only used in areas like parenting, health and exercise, seatbelt use...My god, it makes me angry just thinking about all the potential we're wasting!"_

_He pauses and looks at me as if to check if I'm listening. Once again, I nod. I don't know where he is going with all this, but the lump grows in my gut._

_"So, as part of my doctorate research, I'm determined to prove just how powerful and potent _I_ can make it, and I shall prove how foolish the psychology community is!" He slams his palm on the table for emphasis as he raises his voice. The fine china and silverware shift on the table at the impact, his almost-empty glass of water sliding to bump into the side of his plate. _

_I honestly, honestly, still don't get what all these have to do with my proposal. "And your point is...?" I ask finally._

_He shows his perfect rows of teeth with an uncharacteristically maniacal grin. "My point is, I want to prove that even the most unpredictable human behavior can be manipulated! And what can be more unpredictable, more sacred than something that has conquered even the most power-thirsty emperors; something that has led to countless conflicts and wars and bloodshed; something that no one can ever claim to understand?" _

_My mind struggles to process the stream of words. Something tells me that I should know what's going on by now, but I don't. I really don't._

_"And you know what that is, my dear Grimmjow?" he asks with in a sultry tone, one that he only uses when we make love._

_I shake my head silently, unable to summon my voice._

_"Love, Grimmjow! Love!" he cries. "For centuries, people have studied love_—_how to control it, how to make someone love you, what makes a person love one versus another? Love potions, spells, self-help books, therapy...the list is endless. Every civilization across every continent struggle with it, be it the rich, the poor, the young, the old...so many have tried to understand love yet it is still as much of a mystery to us now as it was from the beginning of time. Just think! If _I _can prove that it is indeed _controllable _through behavioral conditioning, if I have empirical _evidence..._"_

_He stands up, knocking over his chair in the process. "And here I have it. I succeeded! I made even a stubborn, heartless, insensitive subject fall in love!" _

_Then he begins to cackle, the sound shrill and wild. _

_I remain seated, stunned. I...I think I finally understand._

_"Do you not get it, Grimm?" he asks, sauntering up to me and trailing his fingertips up and down my arm. "And here I thought I would be gentle with you...looks like I'll have to be more direct." His hand disappear into my hair and I feel him massaging my scalp, just the way I like it. "The answer is no, baby. I'm afraid I'll have to reject your proposal. After all, I have a thesis to write."_

_And with that, he leaves. _

* * *

I don't remember how long I sat there in the empty dining room afterwards. I don't know if anyone heard him. The restaurant staff was kind enough to let me stay well after closing time. Oh, they knew. Even if they didn't hear what Szayel said, they recognized a failed proposal when they saw one. I went to Nnoitra after that, and he took me to a bar. I got drunk. He lost an eye.

Three years. I was with Szayel for three years. Before him, I truly believed that I would grow old and die alone, and I was perfectly happy with that. I had Nnoitra, I had Ilforte. I was...satisfied. Then, one Christmas Eve eight years ago, I met him at Ilforte's house. I've always known that Ilforte has a younger brother, but throughout our entire friendship, I've never seen the man. It isn't all that surprising since Szayel is actually Ilforte's half-brother, the product of Ilforte's father and his second wife, who live abroad.

When I first laid eyes on him, I was intrigued but not exactly interested. He was about the same height and build as Ilforte, his hair an eye-catching shade of bubblegum pink, just long enough for the shaggy ends to brush the top of his shoulders. I remember seeing him lean into Ilforte to whisper something, then he turned to look at me; an eyebrow quirked, eyes sharp and intelligent behind the dainty silver frames of his glasses. Then he licked his lips, slowly, letting just the tip of his pink tongue visible between those full lips, and then that was it. He turned his back to me and walked away.

I recognized it for what it was: a challenge. A game of cat and mouse. It was not a game I play often, but I was good at it. And when I saw a challenge, I took it.

Playful flirting eventually led to courtship, which finally led to my first ever stable relationship. I've never had to work so hard to win someone's heart, and the harder he made it, the more determined I became.

He liked Japanese food, so I took him to the best sushi restaurant in town.

He had a soft spot for roses, so I gave him the freshest, most fragrant bouquets I could find.

He worked late into the night, studying, writing, and so I waited in the bedroom, nodding off every few minutes but never falling asleep before he came in to join me, even when I had to wake up early in the morning for work.

I toned down in the bedroom, discarded my own preference in favor of his slower, more sensual pace, just to be able to see the blush on his cheeks, to hear him wail my name as he shuddered in my arms. He said it would make his climax sweeter if I whispered his name into his ears, so I did.

And in the end, I won and fell at the same time. He was my hard-won prize. Before I knew it, I was hooked. I soaked up the praises, the kisses, the private dances, the pre-packed lunches in the mornings. After the truth was revealed, I finally realized what they were: rewards. They were simply rewards, _tools_ that he used to _train_ me. He was training me like a fucking animal, and I was happily letting him do it. I was a fool, but who the hell would foresee such a thing? I never saw any danger signs. Everything he did had seemed so sincere.

Well, fool or not, I am now no longer the same person I used to be. I don't know which part of me is still me, if that makes any sense. Do I like Japanese food now because he taught me to like it, or do I really like it on my own? When I see Ichigo's eyes slide close as he nears his peak and I feel the sudden urge to hold him and say his name, is that really what _I_ want to do or simply something I've been _trained_ to do?

The truth is, I don't know, and that's the thing that haunts me every night.

Nnoitra tells me that as long as I don't put myself in the same situation again, I have nothing to fear. His logic is very simple. If it hurts when you slam your hand on the table, then stop slamming your hand on the goddamn table.

I don't know what makes Ichigo so special, but he makes me want to try my luck with that table again.

I tried.

That's what I tell myself as I curl my fingers around his jacket. I know he was just worried and curious, but the casual way he brought it up caught me by surprise. Never in my wildest dream did I expect to hear that question from him so soon. I regretted my harsh words the moment they slipped from my mouth, but when I turned around to apologize, he had this..._expression_ on his face that just snapped something inside of me. He looked so fucking disappointed; his brows pulled together in a sad-looking frown, lips pursed into a pout. Anger I can deal with, but disappointment...

Szayel was never _angry_ at me, but he could put a thousand manly men to shame with a single shake of his head. The disappointed sigh, the barely discernible downward curve of his mouth. He knew the way I work, how I counter anger with anger, and he knew that the one thing I can't stand the most is letting someone down. If I promised something, I _have_ to deliver, it just wouldn't do otherwise. It's a matter of honor.

So when I turned and saw Ichigo with that look on his face—he was so immersed in his own head that he didn't even realize that I was looking at him while he was dressing—the words of apology died on my tongue. The same deep, unsettling sense of panic seized me, and while that would've prompted me to do whatever I could to wipe that expression from Szayel's face last time, _now_, it makes me furious beyond reason.

I'm not surprised that Ichigo fled after that. I didn't run after him. I simply sat still and stared blankly ahead until I finally regained control of my breathing. By then, all that's left of Ichigo is a jacket on the floor. It's his favorite one, too, the one his twin sisters gave him for his birthday last year. It's so soft in my hands, and if I bring it close enough I can smell the faint peachy scent from his body wash.

I suppose this is the best for both of us. This way, Ichigo will be spared from the bumpy road ahead had he continued to explore a possible relationship with me; while I, the dysfunctional freak that I am, now know for certain that I can no longer venture into this territory again. Still, as the jacket gradually takes on my body heat, I know I will miss him. As short and sudden as this has been, Ichigo has given me a taste of something different; something that is so uniquely innocent and warm that for a moment, I actually thought that it could work.

I hope he got back to his apartment safely. It's chilly tonight, as the weather forecast has warned. He's probably curled up on his bed under that thick duvet of his, cussing up a storm and wishing death upon me. I shake my head, unable to stop the smirk that creeps onto my lips despite the heaviness in my bones. He is such a child, so quick to open up to others and so unafraid to show his emotions. Too bad he chose the wrong person to show them to this time.

I fold his jacket and tuck it under my arm, then I make my way upstairs. I walk slowly, almost reluctantly, very much unlike the way I had stormed up here a mere week ago. Finally, I come to a stop in front of his apartment and place the neat bundle at the door. He will see it when he leaves for work tomorrow morning. I rake my fingers roughly through my hair; the pain from forcefully tugging on the tangled strands strangely comforting.

Tomorrow, I will have to find myself a new place to stay.

* * *

**To be continued...**

**Okay, the line to kill Szayel starts here...**

**So, there you have it, finally—the truth of what happened to Grimmjow. From his perspective, at least. I hope you found it interesting!**


	14. Sorry and Goodbye

**Busy weekend with chores and a party. :) Hope you guys had a great one! I owe people replies, but I thought I'd post this up first. **

* * *

I don't think I've ever slept on such luxurious bedsheets before. Renji's really getting spoiled by the Kuchiki family. It's so soft and smooth, and as I snuggle against the pillows and the duvet, it feels like I'm surrounded by puffs of warm, fluffy cloud.

But alas, it's not helping me fall asleep any faster. I try not to toss and turn too much so that I won't startle Renji, who's sleeping only a couple of feet away from me, but my body continues to thrum with restlessness and I just can't lie still.

"Dude...go to sleep," a muffled, sleepy grumble floats over from Renji's side of the bed.

Ugh. So much for trying not to wake him. "I can't," I whisper back. "Sorry."

The bed bounces and creaks, then Renji's disheveled head pops into view. "Shouldn't have given you tea," he mutters while trying to swipe his hair out of his face. They remain stubbornly stuck all over his face and neck, and after a while he huffs a sigh of defeat and plops down face-first next to me.

"It's not the tea you oaf," I chuckle.

"Tch," he mumbles. "I was trying to make a joke."

I roll my eyes and turn to my side so that I'm facing him. "Lame," I say with a smirk.

It's amazing how much not even two minutes of pointless babble with my best friend can cheer me up. As Renji flips himself over and tucks his arms behind his head, I'm suddenly reminded of the many sleepovers we've had since we were little. His dad is really quite cool even though the rest of the family is very uptight. He had even helped us set up a large tent inside Renji's room when we were eight, and we used to pretend that we're camping outdoors and we'd scare each other with stupid monster sounds and flashlight tricks. Boy, we're such idiots back then.

After a long moment of comfortable silence, Renji asks tentatively, "What do you see in him?"

The question surprises me, and for a few seconds I don't know what to say in return.

"Is it the sex?" Renji wonders out loud. "Or is it his looks?"

I feel my ears grow warm as blood rushes towards my face. God, is this what Renji really thinks of me? That I'm such a shallow, vain person? But then I think about it a little more and find myself speechless as I realize that I don't really have an answer to this question.

What _is_ it about Grimmjow that draws me to him?

His looks is definitely what started it all, but that's not everything. I...I don't think I can explain it with words. There's just something about him that sucks me in. His eyes maybe, and the confident, devilish gleam in them; the way his canines show themselves when he curls his lips into an arrogant, lopsided grin; the way his voice rumbles deep in his chest when he speaks; the way he's so crass and unapologetic in everything he does...and the way his mask would slip occasionally, giving me a brief glimpse of how gentle he can be if he wants to.

It's ironic how in the end, it is the very thing that irks me that endears him to me the most. It's what makes him more _real_ and less like an untouchable idol whom I can only admire from afar. Why does he hold himself back? The question won't stop gnawing at me and I nearly forget that I haven't given Renji an answer.

"It's..." I sigh. "...hard to explain, Ren."

How am I supposed to tell Renji that I love Grimmjow's smiles, the way he touches me, the strong, dominant air that he exudes, the promise of danger and excitement that I sense from his sapphire-like eyes, and his kisses? Renji wouldn't understand, and he probably doesn't want to hear all that mushy shit either, seeing that he's as straight as an arrow.

Damn, thinking about Grimmjow and all the little things that make my heart beat wildly for him is definitely not the way to go if I want to stay mad at the man. So I think about his spiteful parting words instead. Fucking asshole, shoving me aside like I'm a cheap toy, as if this entire thing is a joke. I feel a scowl tug at my features as the thoughts stir up something skin to anger in my chest.

After a while, Renji's voice cuts through the silence. "So what're you gonna do?"

I shoot him a sideways glance and pretend that I don't know what he's talking about. "What do you mean?"

"Tch," he snorts. "Ya think I'm stupid? Never mind, don't answer that." He pauses as we both laugh, then as I start to quiet down, he continues, "Maybe he just...I dunno, lost his cool for a second. You guys should talk it over...or something..."

I'm surprised. Renji...on Grimmjow's side?

He shrugs when he sees my raised eyebrows. "I'm not defending him, but you...can't just leave it unresolved like that ya know? I haven't seen you this unhappy for a long time, not even when...when you first realized..." He trails off, no doubt referring to the turbulent period of time in my life when I discovered that I prefer to play for the other team even as I was dating one of the prettiest girl in town.

I heave out an annoyed sigh. "I dunno..." I mumble. I've always known that Grimmjow's rude, but come on, I have my limits. "If he apologizes, maybe."

Renji snorts. "Ya think he'll do that?"

Now it's my turn to shrug. Renji doesn't respond, and the room falls silent once again. Both of us stare blankly at the ceiling with our hands folded behind our heads. My mind just won't rest, with curiosity gnawing at my gut, joining the disappointment and indignation that's already swirling in there. What on _earth_ could've happened between Grimmjow and Ilforte's brother?

"Try to get some sleep," Renji mutters sleepily. "Otherwise we won't be able to wake up tomorrow." For emphasis, a large, calloused palm lands on my face and attempts to forcefully close my eyes.

Between laughter and half-hearted punches, fatigue finally catches up with us, and I drift off, lulled by Renji's gravelly snores .

* * *

I've been staring at the computer screen for thirty minutes, but the only thing my senses are picking up is the sound of hammering and muffled conversations from the men working outside. Today is the last day. After this they will be done with Geta-boshi's shop, and I probably won't see Grimmjow again unless I happen to run into him at the apartment lobby. Or...unless I pay him a visit.

The idea is too tempting, and I shake my head to get it out of my system. The wound on my dignity is too fresh. I don't know if I will be able to control myself if I see him so soon. Much as I'd really like to sock him in the jaw, if I'm honest with myself, I can't bear to see his perfect skin marred by bruises.

Unfortunately for me, someone up there is determined to test me, because not an hour later, I hear a yell—Ilforte?—followed by a stream of curses in a deeper, rougher voice. Hurried footsteps go by the office towards the back of the shop, then two minutes later, the office door rattles in its flimsy frame as someone bangs on it.

I jump up and yank the door open to find Grimmjow and Ilforte standing in front of me; Ilforte's brows creased with worry and apology while Grimmjow cradles one of his hand in the other.

"Again?" I stare at them in disbelief.

Ilforte gives his friend another regretful look and explains, "It's my fault, I startled him and...his cut re-opened..."

"It's nothing," Grimmjow interrupts him gruffly. "I just need a band-aid and I'll be out of your way."

My eyebrow twitches at the way he's addressing me without looking at me in the eye. He sounds almost petulant, like a child who is sulking about being reprimanded but is unable to deny his guilt.

"Come on in," I say curtly.

Ilforte's eyes flick between us, gradually widening as though something just clicked in his head. I roll my eyes. I guess I'm not the only one with a sour mood this morning. The blonde hesitates for a moment before giving me a sheepish smile and scurrying away, leaving Grimmjow and I at the doorway with no choice but to acknowledge each other's presence.

I frown when Grimmjow reveals his injured hand. The half-healed cut has indeed re-opened, and it doesn't look pretty. I rummage around the cabinets for the first-aid kit and let him stew in the awkward silence. It's only when I'm almost done taping the gauze around his palm that he finally speaks.

"Sorry."

The apprehension in his tone is obvious, and when I lift my head to look at him, he averts his gaze. I heave a sigh and try to summon my wrath, but to my chagrin, my voice comes out softer than I want it to be.

"You're an ass, you know that?" I mutter, sounding more annoyed than angry.

He stubbornly keeps his face turned away, and after waiting for a few more seconds, the last strand of my patience finally snaps. I let go of his freshly-bandaged hand and shove him hard in the chest, sending him stumbling backwards until his back bumps into the wall. His head snaps up and his eyes fly open in surprise. A flash of anger crosses his features for a split second before dissipating completely when our eyes meet.

I curl my fingers around the collar of his t-shirt and shake him harshly, not caring if I might piss him off in the process.

"How dare you say that to me? How dare you!" I all but scream in his face. "You told me you're interested! You gave me hope, then you throw it right back at me the next fucking day! Do you have any idea how that made me feel? Do you even care—"

He reaches up and grabs me, his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist. For a moment I thought he's going to push me away, but he doesn't.

"Look," he says evenly, "I know I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry."

I breathe heavily through flared nostrils and stare intently at him, searching his face for signs of sarcasm. All I find is what seems to be genuine remorse and a bit of something that I can't put my finger on. If I have to describe it, I'd have to say it might actually be a hint of longing. The discovery startles me, and I let go of his t-shirt. He shrugs his shoulders to straighten his clothes, and it is then I finally notice how tired he looks. The usually perfect skin under his eyes appear puffy, and the air of confidence that he carries with him so naturally is absent.

"Where were you last night?" he asks suddenly.

Taken aback by the unexpected question, I reply automatically. "I stayed over at Renji's."

A weird expression creeps onto his face and his lips curl into a slight smirk. "That's good," he says with a nod.

His reaction only confuses me even more, but before I can ask him to what he means, he's already pushing himself off the wall and trying to get to the door. My effort to stop him is easily rebuffed when he pins me with his piercing gaze.

"Don't take it personally, Ichi," he says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle and apologetic. "It's better this way, trust me."

Without waiting for my response, he slips out through the opened door and disappears from my sight, leaving me speechless in the tiny office.

* * *

I finally learn the answer to the question that has been plaguing me the entire day when I see the folded bundle in front of my apartment. It's the jacket that I'd worn to Grimmjow's apartment yesterday. I think I know now, how he knew that I didn't go home last night. He must've looked for me after I left his apartment, and when I didn't answer the door, left my jacket at my door. But_ why_ he would do that, and why didn't he simply return the garment to me at the shop today is beyond me.

I pick up my jacket and let myself into my apartment. The door closes with a muted click behind me, and I start to gather my things in a large gym bag.

It's Renji who suggested that I stay with him for a few days, mostly so that I have a distraction that would keep me from feeling too depressed about the whole situation with Grimmjow. I have to say that Renji has a point, plus his place is so much more lavish and comfortable than mine anyway. I'm already thinking about his heated indoor pool and the first-grade dining that his chef serves as I pack. It'll be just like old times.

Within half an hour, I have my clothes and other basic necessities stuffed in the bag. Then I pad over to the living room to get my laptop. I stop short in my tracks as my eyes settle on the empty spot on my coffee table, where I usually place my computer.

Crap! My laptop!

I slap myself on the forehead in dismay, suddenly remembering where it's at. I had fled from Grimmjow's apartment so quickly yesterday that I'd left it behind.

My pulse picks up automatically just from the mere thought of having to pay the man a visit, and I mutter a string of curses under my breath.

_Goddamnit_.

Five minutes later, I'm standing in front of his door, my gym bag slung over one shoulder while my sneakers hang loosely from my left hand. I stare at the slightly rusty number plate on the old, scratched up wooden door with a deep sense of trepidation.

Well, there is no avoiding it now. I have to get my laptop. I would've just made do with borrowing Renji's computer for my personal stuff to avoid Grimmjow for a while, but all the source code for Cero Constructions' record keeping software is on that damn machine.

After blowing out a long breath, I finally knock on the door.

Seconds tick by in silence, so I knock again, making sure that the sound is crisp and loud. If anyone's in there, they'd have to be deaf not to hear it. Our crappy apartment really isn't designed to be soundproof.

"I'm not interested," Grimmjow's unmistakable rough voice says, slightly muffled behind the door.

I can't help but smirk. The idiot must have assumed that I'm a salesman.

"It's me," I announce.

There's a few seconds of silence, then I hear the lock and security latch being disengaged. The door opens slowly to reveal a very disheveled-looking Grimmjow.

My jaw nearly falls open at the sight of the man. His unruly blue hair looks like an exploded bird's nest, tangled and sticking up in a thousand directions on one side and matted to his scalp on the other.

"Hey," he greets a little sheepishly and rakes his fingers through his hair. His eyebrows quirk slightly as he glances between my sneakers and my gym bag.

I shrug at his unspoken question. "Going over to Renji's."

"I see," he says, nodding his head. An awkward pause follows as both of us stare at each other.

For a moment, I find myself wishing that he'd tell me that last night was a mistake and that he wants me back. A lump forms in my throat immediately at the thought. Fuck, even now, even after what he has done to me, I still want him. Badly. Really, really badly.

I must be out of my mind.

And I most certainly am, because the next thing I know, I'm clutching his t-shirt and pressing my lips on his. I clench my eyes shut, not wanting to see the shocked expression on his face, not wanting to acknowledge what I'm doing. I just want one last kiss, one last taste of what I'm being denied. What hurts me the most is that I don't even understand why I'm being denied.

It feels like the kiss lasted forever, but in reality it can't have lasted more than a handful of seconds. Through it all, Grimmmjow doesn't kiss me back. He just stands there like a fucking statue, frozen and completely silent, and when I finally pull away, he stares at me like he has never seen me before. But there it is again, the look of longing—stronger now than what I had sensed at the shop—is clear in his eyes.

There is no doubt that he wants me, which is absolutely maddening. I don't understand why he's doing this to himself, to me, to what could've been _us_.

I wait for his response, _any_ response, but when it becomes clear that he's not going to do anything except gape at me wordlessly, a heavy sense of weariness settle in my bones. So I straighten up and clear my throat, and pretend that the kiss never happened.

"I'm here to pick up my laptop," I croak before breaking our eye contact. I can't bring myself to look at him anymore.

My voice rouses him from his frozen state, and he snaps to attention like someone who has just been smacked in the face. With a curt nod, he turns and walks back into his apartment, his strides unnaturally stiff.

When he hands the laptop to me, I snatch it from him and slide it into my gym bag without looking at him. I don't even bother saying goodbye.

The walk to Renji's house is the longest one I've ever taken in my life.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	15. Changing Gears

**It sure has been a while since I last updated! RL has been busy, and I'm especially excited because I'm finally going to own a house! Finally, goodbye to the crappy piping in my apartment! :D But it won't be ready for a while so in the meantime I still have to be careful with my shower. :(**

**Anyways, so this chapter is going to be slightly different in format. There will more than one POVs here, as the storyline is picking up pace and I want to be able to show how the characters react to the upcoming events. I think it won't be too difficult to differentiate who's who. :)**

* * *

I vaguely register the sound of my door slamming close, but all I see is that last look on his face. I've never seen him so..._sad_. There's no disappointment in his amber-like eyes this time, just a heavy sense of resignation. If I thought disappointment was bad, this was worse, much worse, because at least when he was disappointed, it showed that he cared enough to feel upset about being let down. Now, it just looks like he has given up, which is made clear by the note of finality when he turned away and left.

I rest my back against the door and slide down numbly, hearing more than feeling the rough wooden surface scrape the flimsy t-shirt I'm wearing until my butt hits the carpeted floor. Even now, even after what I said to him the other day, he still held hope for me. And now I've snuffed it out completely, which is exactly what I want, isn't it? So why do I feel like there's something twisting and writhing inside my ribcage and squeezing my lungs until I can hardly breathe?

Why is it that the first time I did something that is truly out of my own free will, it feels like I've made the worst mistake of my life?

Seething frustration gnaws at me deep in the pit of my stomach and slowly claws up to my throat until I can't take it anymore. I don't remember launching myself off the floor, but the next thing I know, I'm on my feet, swiping and throwing everything that I can reach off the kitchen counter top and the dining table. Everything that can break, breaks. Cups and plates shatter on the tiled floor, the crisp sound of them being smashed into pieces doing little to soothe the raging ache in my chest. I want to destroy everything in sight, _every goddamn thing t_hat I can see and then some.

I don't even know if I'm mad at Szayel or at myself now._ I hate it._ I hate the man who made me believe in something I never believed in in the first place. I hate how I'm still unable to escape from his clutches even after so many years. I hate how weak I've allowed myself to become. But most of all, I hate being the one who robbed the warmth from Ichigo's boyish face.

The thing that finally makes me stop is the sound of my couch crashing to the floor when I flip it over. I bend over and grab my knees, my breath coming in rapid pants as I struggle to force air into my lungs and swallow around the painful lump in my throat at the same time. My palm is throbbing and I can feel the unmistakable wetness that's beginning to soak through the bandage. I bring my hand up to my face to check the damage, but the sight of the blood-stained gauze brings nothing but the memory of Ichigo, and all of a sudden I can't stand having it around my palm. Ignoring the pain from the re-opened cut, I rip it off, my blunt nails digging and scraping my skin, tearing the injury even wider. After a while it stops hurting, and as I look at the blood that is now trickling down my hand, I begin to laugh. The crazed cackles make me sound like a deranged freak, but I can't help it. My sides starts to cramp up from laughing so hard and I double over further.

The last thing I hear is the door being kicked open.

* * *

The door opens just in time for us to see Grimmjow fall to his knees and collapse face-first onto the carpet.

"What the...shit!" Nnoitra gives the door an extra vicious kick to rush past me towards Grimmjow while I stare dumbly at the scene of chaos in front of me.

The kitchen is a mess, the floor littered with shattered pieces of porcelain and glass, some of them smeared with what can only be blood. Smudges of red lead to the living room, where Grimmjow's ugly, lumpy couch is lying on its back. The coffee table is upside down, the TV stand crooked with the TV resting precariously close to the edge of the stand.

Our blue-haired friend has certainly gone on a rampage. Earlier, we had heard his guttural screams and maniacal laughter even before we reached his unit. You have no idea how worried I was when we were fumbling with the door lock, frantically wondering why the key wasn't working the way it should, before finally realizing that the door was unlocked in the first place.

After a few huffs, I manage to lift the couch up so that Nnoitra can place our unconscious friend on it. If I may be blunt, Grimmjow looks absolutely dreadful, or, in Nnoitra-speak, he looks "like crap". His already unruly hair is even more so, soaked in sweat and matted to his forehead and cheeks; his face and lips several shades paler than usual. The thing that horrifies me the most, though, is his blood-covered hand; obviously the cut has re-opened, no doubt the result of his attempt to remove the bandage around it. I don't know how long he has spent destroying his apartment, but however long it was, it has definitely taken a toll on the poor man.

As Nnoitra fusses over Grimmjow, I start the daunting task of cleaning up the disaster zone. Even as my eyes twitch at the extent of the damage here, I can't help but smirk just a little. Not even half an hour ago, Nnoitra had adamantly claimed that he "hates the ungrateful son of a bitch" and "doesn't give a shit" about the man, yet now he's acting like an agitated mother hen. Who does he think he's kidding by putting on this macho front when he practically sees Grimmjow as his baby brother?

Twenty minutes later, the kitchen and dining room is as good as new, albeit a lot sparser than before. I manage to find a couple of protein bars in the cabinet, and I grab them along with a glass with water and a small bottle of aspirin, then I join Nnoitra in the living room.

Grimmjow is still out cold, his chest falling and rising steadily as he lies on his back along the length of the couch with his head raised slightly atop a folded jacket. His hand has been wiped clean of blood and is currently sporting a crude-looking bandage of sorts made of a thin strip of white cloth.

"Shut it," Nnoitra growls as soon as I glance at him with a knowing smile.

I shake my head and scoot closer to Grimmjow to feel his forehead. It's clammy from sweat but otherwise normal, so I settle back down in front of the couch and sit cross-legged next to Nnoitra. While it's shocking to see Grimmjow unconscious, I'm confident that his current condition is simply due to exhaustion combined with hunger and dehydration. I haven't seen him eat or drink throughout the entire day, not even a single drop of water. Besides, much as I wish it were not the case, this isn't the first time we've seen him in this state.

Back then, when my bastard brother left him, Grimmjow had crashed hard. For months, he would go through this cycle. One moment, we'd think that he's on the mend, bouncing back and recovering, then we would find him amidst a destroyed apartment, his knuckles bruised and bleeding from punching the wall when he ran out of things to break. I think he just doesn't know how to react to certain things, even before what Szayel did to him, and then after that, it has simply gotten worse. Over the years, I've learned to recognize the signs, so when I noticed them today - the dullness in his usually crystalline blue eyes, the sag in his posture, his lack of attention throughout the day - I knew something was up. Of course, I didn't miss the look on the orange-haired kid's face.

Just then, a raspy groan pulls my attention to the couch, where Grimmjow is slowly coming to. The couch creaks as he begins to shift his weight, raising his hand to his eyes. I slip an arm under his head and bring the glass of water to his lips. His eyes remain closed but he ceases his struggle and begins to sip slowly from the glass.

"Ya scared the shit outta us, you stupid fuck!" Nnoitra shouts, expressing his relief in his usual eloquent manner.

Grimmjow's features scrunch up into a grimace before he peeks at both of us with heavy-lidded eyes. With my help, he pulls himself into a sitting position and looks around his apartment and at his hand. He turns to me and Nnoitra with a grateful glint in his eyes.

"When was the last time you ate?" I admonish him sternly as I take the empty glass from him.

He cocks his head to the side and frowns for a bit before giving us a sheepish look. That tells me enough, and I purse my lips in exasperation.

"Fucking idiot," Nnoitra mumbles under his breath.

I thrust an opened protein bar into Grimmjow's face, and he accepts it quietly. For a moment he makes no move to actually eat it, so I glare at him, putting all the anger that I can summon into my eyes. His eyes widen a fraction and he finally relents and takes a bite out of the honey oat and chocolate bar. His expression changes immediately to one who has just realized how famished he is. The bar is gone within seconds, and I hand him the second one, which he wolfs down just as quickly. Then he glances at us, no doubt feeling the weight of our expectant gaze on him.

I can practically hear the gears turn in his head. If the stubborn fool thinks that we would let him off the hook so easily, then he doesn't know how wrong he is. I cross my arms over my chest and give him an uncharacteristically hard stare. I need him to know that I mean business this time. One way or another, he's going to tell us what went down between him and the kid from the convenience store.

Grimmjow's eyes dart from my face to Nnoitra's, then he lets his head drop into his palms with a groan. "I screwed up," he croaks.

Even though I can't see Nnoitra's expression from my angle, I know he's going to say something snarky, so I jab him hard in the ribs. He jerks and drives his elbow right back into my gut, wringing a grunt from me. Our antics brings a fleeting smile on Grimmjow's face, but it's gone just as quickly.

"I can't forget," he says in a scratchy whisper.

I know exactly what he means, and I reach out to give his knee a brief squeeze. A familiar sense of guilt overwhelms me, because it's _my_ brother who caused all this pain and _I_ was the one who introduced them to each other. He gives me a reassuring look and proceeds to tell us everything; the spiteful things he'd said to Ichigo, the promise he had broken, and how he had finally pushed the kid away. The most heartbreaking part is that he actually _thinks_ he's doing what's best for both of them even though his heart clearly doesn't agree with that logic.

Neither Nnoitra or I comment immediately when Grimmjow finishes his confession. On my part, I'm honestly torn. All this while, I've known that there's a spark between the two of them and I've even tried to steer them towards the right direction despite Nnoitra's protests, but now...seeing how confused and distraught my friend is, I'm no longer certain that I should encourage him anymore. Chewing absently on my lower lip, I look to Nnoitra for his thoughts. He's scowling; his brows furrowed and lips curled in disdain.

"Knew this was gonna happen sooner or later," he mutters with a roll of his eye.

"Nnoi..." I warn quietly before he can rub salt into Grimmjow's wound.

To my surprise, instead of the snide remark that I'm expecting, Nnoitra grunts and asks, "Have ya ever thought of simply telling the kid the truth?"

* * *

I'm aware that I'm jiggling my leg - bad habit, that - but I can't bring myself to stop, because then I'd have nothing to distract me from the crippling worry that's clutching my chest in a vice grip. Ichi has been in that damn bathroom for almost an hour now. From the sounds of it, he's already done with his shower a good half an hour ago, so what the _hell_ is he doing in there?

I bite my lip and push the gory images out of my head. Ichi lying in the tub, his head tilted unnaturally to the side as the water takes on a pink tint around his slit wrists; Ichi crumpled on the marble floor with a pool of blood beneath his head; Ichi slumped against the wall with a jagged piece of mirror in his hand. I literally have to shake my head to stop my mind from going down that path.

I know I'm probably thinking too much; Ichi's strong, he has overcome so many obstacles in his life. This is simply another small bump in his turbulent love life. Yet, at the same time, I have a feeling that this _isn't_ just another small bump. I thought he'd feel better after one day, but if anything, he looks even worse today although he hasn't told me anything. I've never seen him like this, and that's the thing that worries me.

After waiting for another ten _agonizing_ minutes, I finally give up and stomp over to the bathroom door and start pounding on it.

"Ya still alive in there?" I yell at the top of my lungs, trying to sound like my usual goofy self.

For a while, there is no response, then comes a tired, muffled voice. "Ha ha, very funny."

I feel a surge of relief, but I pretend that I'm miffed. "Well ya better come out now 'cause I really need ta pee!" I say to the door.

Ichi doesn't reply this time, and I wait anxiously in front of the door. Seriously, what the fuck is taking him so long?

Then all of a sudden, it dawns on me: he's stalling. He probably doesn't know how to face me; maybe he's worried that I'd ask him a lot of questions, or maybe he'd cried and he doesn't want me to see it. The realization only makes me even antsier, and I rub the back of my neck vigorously.

Okay, I'm going to play it cool. I won't ask him anything unless he brings it up himself. If he comes out looking all funny, I won't say anything. I'll just pretend that I didn't see anything. Yeah, that's what I'll-

The door opens suddenly and my mind grinds to a halt. "Holy shit! Were you trying to boil yourself alive?" The words are out of my mouth before I can stop myself. But can you blame me, though?

Standing in front of me, clad in a wrinkly t-shirt and checkered boxers, Ichi is the very picture of a makeup artist's worst nightmare. His hair is mussed and frizzy like he had rubbed it too hard with a towel, his face red and splotchy, probably from the near-scalding shower that he just had, if the temperature in the bathroom is any indication.

"It feels good," he replies with a shrug. I step aside and let him walk past me into the room. He shivers slightly as he leaves the warmth of the still-steaming bathroom, the action barely discernible but it doesn't escape my eyes. Without another word, he runs his fingers through his tangled locks and throws himself onto my bed. I hear him sigh in relief as his - likely raw and painful - skin comes into contact with the silky fabric of my bedsheets.

Oh, what I would give to go over there and gather him into my arms, but I know better than to give in to the temptation. That would be unfair; I'd be taking advantage of his vulnerable moment, and I don't really fancy the idea of being a rebound.

Of course, there are still other..._bigger_ problems. For one, he thinks I'm as straight as a pole. And two, I'm in the dreaded "friend zone". If you think that it sucks to be in the friend zone, wait till you try the _best friend_ zone. And then there's the ever-present fear of him freaking out on me. Anyone would if their supposedly straight best friend of almost two decades suddenly tells them that he has always harbored _feelings_ for them. I know it's clichéd as fuck, but I'd rather remain as a friend than losing him completely, thank you very much. Plus, now is just not the best time, for obvious reasons.

So, instead of going over to him, I head into the bathroom. Once the door's closed, I start stripping mechanically, my mind more occupied with what I should do about Ichi. It isn't until I'm standing right under the shower head that I pause, my hand hovering barely an inch away from the faucet.

Heh. He still remembers.

Confused? Okay, let me tell you about this game of ours. Since we were little, every time he sleeps over at my place, if he showers first, he'd turn the water temperature to its coldest as a prank. The first few times had taken me by surprise because I had the bad habit of turning the shower on without checking the water temperature while standing right underneath the shower head, but seriously, does he really think that I'm _that_ dense? I've long abandoned that habit, I just never had the heart to tell him that because he's always so entertained by it.

Now, here it is, the handle of the faucet, turned all the way to the left. If I had simply pulled on it without looking, I would've been drenched in ice-cold water. I'm surprised that he bothered doing this when he's in such a bad mood, but perhaps old habits die hard, yeah?

I grin. Oh, what the hell. Bracing myself, I pull on the handle. I don't even have to pretend to sound surprised as the water comes gushing down like a bucket of ice because it's _that fucking cold_. I let loose a stream of curses by reflex and fumble with the handle with stiff hands to turn the temperature up. But even as I stand here shivering from head to toe, I can't help but smirk, because I can hear the familiar peels of laughter coming from the bedroom. It's all worth it, even if I have to freeze my bottom off. I know I'm not the most sensitive, most expressive best friend in the world, but I sure as hell can provide entertainment, even if it's just a few minutes of reprieve from the funk he's going through.

It's not fair. This is how Ichi should be, happy and full of life like how he usually is before that bastard came along. Anger flares anew in my chest as I picture the man who made Ichi this way. No, I can provide _more_ than entertainment. I'm going to show that blue-haired motherfucker that _nobody_ messes with Ichi without consequences.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	16. Discovery

**Happy weekend! :D Sorry for not updating for so long! What with work, tax season, and the discovery of a website full of yaoi manga, I got so distracted that I could not write anything for the longest time.**

**The idea for the little bit of comedy thrown in here came from dear Cheeva. :) Thanks for letting me run with it!**

**Onwards!**

* * *

_"I'm sorry."_

_A pair of lips, moist and burning hot, leaves my earlobe to move southward along my jawline. I tilt my head down to capture the wandering mouth with my own and immediately taste the familiar mint-tobacco mixture that can only belong to one person. I moan softly against his lips as a hand, calloused from years of hard work, slides under my t-shirt to ghost over my abdomen. A gentle nudge from his knee coaxes me to part my legs, then the bed dips as he settles over me, his body heat enveloping me immediately like an electric blanket. _

_"I'm so sorry," he murmurs between kisses. "I'm so, so sorry."_

_I thread my fingers into his sky blue locks and shake my head. "Shhh..." I whisper. There's no need for apologies. The regret and affection swimming in his eyes tells me enough._

_A rumbling groan leaves his throat as I reach between us and slowly rub my palm in circles over the prominent bulge in his jeans. How I've missed this_—_his voice, his touches, his scent. The elation from having him in my arms again makes me bolder than usual. Hooking my leg over his thigh, I use that as leverage to raise my hips so that we're pressed even more closely against each other; enough for me feel him throb against my own arousal even through the layers of fabric. He hisses through clenched teeth as he grinds back sensually, pinning me to the soft, silky sheets beneath me._

_"Hurry..." I plead huskily. _

_He chuckles into my ear and gives my earlobe a quick nip before sitting back on his haunches and stripping out of his t-shirt. I sit up and do the same, the flush on my cheeks deepening as I take in the rippling muscles on his torso. Giving in to my impulse, I lean forward and press my lips onto the hot, golden skin, leaving a wet trail up to his pectorals. I hear a groan of approval, but before I can continue, I'm suddenly pushed onto my back, the sudden movement knocking the air of my lungs. A pair of lips lock onto mine in a dominant, possessive way that makes my toes curl, and then nimble hands begin to work on my zipper. Without breaking the kiss, I raise my hips and feel my jeans and boxers slide over my thigh to be discarded carelessly on the floor. Another thud signals the removal of his pants, and then we're pressed together again; bare skin against bare skin, our bodies becoming increasingly slick with sweat. _

_Well practiced fingers take me close to the brink, and just as I'm begging him to stop, something much larger, much more fulfilling pushes into me, bringing with it a sweet, familiar ache that wrings a long, needy moan from me. The pace begins slow and steady, almost teasingly so. With every powerful roll of his hips, the pulsing heat in my belly swells. He grunts as I clutch his hair even tighter, but he doesn't stop. If anything, the pain on his scalp seems to spur him on and he picks up in both speed and force, burying himself so deep inside of me that it feels like we would meld into one. He grits out the word "fuck" in time with his thrusts, his voice breathless and raspy between pants. The rough, absolutely _un-_romantic curses aren't meant to be arousing, but it works on me, and I rock back with all the strength I can muster beneath him. Wanton moans tumble from my lips to join his deeper, rougher voice; the combination so erotic that I could almost climax just from the sounds alone._

_I bite my lip and try to hold back, to make this last longer, but I am no match for his skills and passion. My entire body goes rigid as pleasure crests and swallows me, and with a keening wail of his name, I topple over the proverbial edge. He groans and continues to rock in and out of me for another minute before following suit. The familiar sensation of being filled with his release sends a tremor through my limbs and I let out a shuddering breath before falling completely still. He slumps forward, our foreheads touching. Then, then...the impossible happens. _

_"Ichi," he breathes almost inaudibly next to my ear. "Ichigo."_

_He said my name! My eyes water immediately and I chide myself for overreacting over such a ridiculously small gesture, but...my god...he actually said my name! Finally! While I'm busy trying to pretend that it's not a big deal, he pulls out with a soft grunt and collapses next to me. He rolls me onto my side and gathers me into his arms with my back pressed flush against his muscular chest. _

_As his strong, steady heartbeat lulls me to sleep, he murmurs my name once more. I smile and snuggle back against him, only to feel something hard brush up against my leg._

_Already? But we just..._

_"Grimm, m'tired," I mumble sleepily._

_A low, guttural growl is the only reply I receive, so I shift happily, relieved that I can finally rest. Then I feel it again, that blunt, stiff length bumping into the back of my thighs._

_"Grimm..." I grumble._

_Another deep, rumbling grunt greets me and I turn around grumpily, ready to push the man away from me so that I can get some sleep..._

Except, the man who greets me in the semi-darkness—eyes still closed in slumber and snoring lightly through parted lips—has _red_ hair instead of blue. It's Renji, sleeping on his side, his body pressed almost flush against my back. I prop myself up with a startled jerk, suddenly remembering where I am.

Oh, _holy_...I lift the blanket and find myself staring at the very impressive morning wood in my best friend's boxers. Heat immediately consumes my face, and I drop the blanket in a hurry.

Still, I can't help but wonder who is the lucky girl Renji is thinking about. Now that I think about it, I've never seen him gush over anyone in particular even though he always jokes about liking chicks with big tits. I almost envy him. Life is probably a lot simpler when you don't have to deal with this kind of shit.

A quick peek at the wall clock tells me that I still have a good five hours more to sleep, so I lie back down and turn my back towards Renji, mindful to keep some distance between us, lest he pokes me again.

But sleep eludes me as the dream returns in bits and pieces. I've never felt so pathetic in my life. Seriously, after being rejected like that, you'd think that my subconscious would learn not to supply my brain with such vivid images. But _no_...instead, it decides to give me the very thing that I need the least right now: hope.

I clench my eyes close and try my best to control the painful knot of emotions that is threatening to burst out of my chest. This is fucking unfair. Grimmjow obviously feels something for me. It's written so clearly on his face; the way his brows are furrowed and the way his mouth is downturned even as he tells me that it's best for us.

I realize now, even as I blame him, that I could've handled things differently. I shouldn't have pressed him for answers when he clearly has a painful past. I should've understood that he's simply not ready to share certain things with me. If I had just been a little more patient, a little more tactful...

But it's too late now, isn't it? I will just have to learn to get back on my feet, even though every fiber of my being is screaming at me not to.

I don't realize how tightly I'm clutching the sheets beneath me until the corner of the fitted sheet pops clear of the mattress and I nearly hit myself in the face. I jerk my head back in surprise and promptly collide with something hard right behind me.

"Oww! What the hell?" Renji whips around, clutching the back of his head with a fierce scowl, his voice thick from sleep.

I rub my head as well, gritting my teeth to keep my howl of pain inside. Goddamnit Renji sure has a hard head..._and a hard something else_, my mind helpfully supplies. I blush immediately and keep my face turned away so that Renji won't see me.

A fist lands on my bicep, more playful than anything, before Renji grumbles, "What was _that_ about?"

Without turning around, I lift the corner of the bedsheet to show him.

"Huh," he says, sounding confused. "It came out by itself? That's weird."

I shrug my shoulders and bury my face deeper into the pillow, pretending that I'm still sleepy and want nothing more than going back to bed. The ruse seems to work. Renji mutters something unintelligible under his breath and plops back down on the bed. I'm left in peace, alone in my messed up, miserable life. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but it's just not fucking fair that I'm so hung up on this man. I've _never_ felt like this before, and it scares me and pisses me off at the same time.

After tossing and turning for at least half an hour, I give up on trying to salvage the rest of the night. Moving as cautiously as I can, I slowly make my way over to my laptop. Might as well spend my time doing something useful instead of moping around, right? Slinging my laptop bag over my shoulder, I sneak out of the bedroom to find somewhere I can work without disturbing anyone. It's not a difficult task, seeing how Renji's house is ridiculously large.

I finally settle in a room that looks like a library. Judging from the pristine condition of this room, Renji clearly never spends any time here. It's neat and almost clinically clean, with not a speck of dust in sight, not a book out of place. I tiptoe over to the large wooden desk against the window and fire up my computer. I cringe when the standard startup tune echoes in the room, the usually soft sound thunderous in the silence. But nobody comes to investigate, so after a while I relax and immerse myself into the lines and lines of code that I still have to write for Cero Constructions.

I don't know if it's because I'm alone and uninterrupted, or because I'm just extra productive in the wee hours of the morning, but right as the sunlight begins to pour in through the partially-drawn curtains, I realize that I'm done. _Done_ as in I now have a running, working program that does everything Ilforte wants it to do. I feel a surge of pride and satisfaction as I fiddle around with it, testing out the happy paths, corner cases, and error conditions to assure myself that I hand over something of high quality. The tests pass without a hitch.

Then the implication hits me. I'm done, which means I need to give this to Ilforte, which means I'll have to see him, which means I'll mostly likely have to go to his workplace _in order_ to see him, which means I'll probably see..._him_.

Aww, fuck.

I really don't want to see him. How can I? I'm beyond embarrassed about kissing him out of the blue last night, and not to mention it hurts to see that conflicted look on his face. Ugh. I feel like an idiot for agonizing over this. Considering what we've done already, that kiss is easily the most _innocent_ thing I've done, so why does it bother me so much? I swear I'll never understand myself.

According to my laptop, I have just under an hour before I have to be at Geta-boshi's, so I quickly pack up and return to Renji's bedroom to give the lazy idiot a morning call. Sure enough, I find him still asleep, sprawled on his back in the middle of the bed with the covers kicked aside. He has one of his hands tucked underneath the pillow while the other...well, the other one is inside his boxers right where his goods are. Grinning, I fish out my cell phone and snap a picture. The sound from the camera shutter rouses him immediately

"Wha...what?"

My grin widens when I hear Renji's sleepy and confused voice. "Wake up, sleepyhead," I say, chuckling under my breath as I post the photo on Facebook. This is too priceless to pass up, even with the risk of a painful, messy death.

He groans and hides under the covers, and I leave him there to wash up and change in the bathroom. To be honest, I'm not looking forward to work today, because I know Geta-boshi's going to drive us nuts by asking us to rearrange the furniture over and over again when we move everything back into the shop, just to torture us if not anything else. That sadistic bastard.

* * *

Of all people, I never expected _Nnoitra_ to be the one to suggest that I "tell the truth". But then again, when I really think about it, it actually kind of makes sense. If you were to ask me to name what I like the most about Nnoitra, I would say—without losing a beat—that it's his bluntness. Some people may call him crass, tactless. I call it honesty. Nnoitra doesn't beat around the bush. So, I guess I really shouldn't be surprised that he'd point out the obvious, although I can see that he's holding back the urge to strangle me at the same time.

Anyhow, what annoys me more than anything is the fact that I'm actually considering it. Do I _want_ to tell Ichigo about the stunt that Szayel pulled on me all those years ago? The answer would be _hell _no, of course not. Is it the right thing to do? Maybe.

Okay, fine. It is, alright?

Tell the kid the truth. _Goddamnit_ it sounds so fucking easy coming out of Nnoitra's mouth, but when I imagine myself doing that, I feel like throwing up. What would Ichigo say? Would he understand, or would he—god forbid—_pity_ me? I don't know what I'd do if he does. Pity me, that is. I don't think I can handle it. Anger I can manage; I'd welcome it, in fact. I'd let him beat me to a pulp if that's what it takes to win him back. But pity...it'd kill me.

Ilforte and Nnoitra refused to let me spend the night alone in my own apartment. I was so exhausted then that I didn't put up much of a fight. We ended up at Ilforte's place, where I immediately fell asleep in one of the guest bedrooms. I think Nnoitra stayed over as well, because when I wake up this morning, they are both there, sitting at the dining table nursing cups of coffee.

"Feeling better?" Ilforte asks. Without being prompted, he warms up a mug of milk for me. Full cream, too; bless his soul.

I shrug and hold his gaze for a while. He gets the silent message and his face breaks into a relieved grin. I accept the steaming cup of my favorite beverage and join them at the table.

Nnoitra snorts and gives me a sideways glance. "Ya decide what ya gonna do yet?"

"Yeah." I nod after taking a sip. Licking my milk moustache, I look at my friends, my eyes darting from one to the other. As I take in Ilforte's encouraging smile and the glint of challenge in Nnoitra's eyes, I feel a surge of strength. "I've decided."

* * *

Just as I expected, Geta-boshi is determined to work us to the bone today. I swear the man does it on purpose just to fuck with us, because Renji and I have had to rearrange the shelves three times since this morning.

_Three times!_

As if that's not bad enough, we have to suffer through it while listening to Geta-boshi's instructions in that annoying sing-song voice of his. So, when he finally announces that we can leave, I practically bolt out of there before he changes his mind. I'm late enough as it is.

"Hello? Ilforte? I'm sorry, I'll be there in half an hour..." I say into my cell phone as I wave to Renji, rolling my eyes when the idiot waves back with his middle finger extended.

"No problem," Ilforte replies good-naturedly. "I still have work to do here anyway."

After thanking him, I slip the phone back into my pocket and pick up my pace, but even though I'm hurrying, deep down inside I almost wish that the bus would be late, or that it'd break down half way. Unfortunately for me, neither happens, and I arrive at Cero Constructions five minutes earlier than my own estimation. The first thing I notice is Grimmjow's precious BMW in the parking lot next to the building, its flawless paint gleaming in the sunlight. The sight only makes me even more reluctant to go up to that front door.

Is he there? What am I going to say if he is? How will he react when he sees me?

Shit, this is stupid. I need to _stop_ being so fucking immature.

Taking a deep breath, I pull myself to my full height and press the buzzer next to the door, then I wait. Thirty seconds tick by in tense silence. I shift my weight from foot to foot and cross my arms over my chest. This is no big deal. I don't know why I'm so fucking nervous.

"Hello?" I call out, beginning to feel annoyed when nobody answers even after my second and third tries with the buzzer.

When I'm greeted with more silence, I huff in irritation and decide to go old school by banging on the door. To my surprise, the door creaks open on impact.

"Hello?" I try again as I take a tentative step inside. "Ilforte?"

The office is just as messy as I remember it, but there's nobody there. The chair in front of the computer is unoccupied, pushed several feet away from the desk as though someone has just gotten up from it in a hurry. I pull the door close behind me and cringe when the door frame rattles noisily.

"Ilforte? Skinn...Nnoitra?"

My calls go unheeded. With a sigh, I dump my bag on the floor and bravely attempt to clear a space on the desk large enough to fit my laptop. I seriously don't know whether to laugh or cry. I've never seen so many uneven stacks of paper all crammed onto a single surface before. Some of them, especially the ones right next to the wall, look as if they've been sitting here for _years_. They stubbornly refuse to budge, so I grip the bottom of the stack and lift it. Immediately, my heart gives a sickening lurch as I realize that it's much heavier than I thought, and as I fumble to readjust my grip on them, the stack tilts precariously to the side.

_Shit..._

For a suspended moment, I watch the pieces of paper and files slide out of position in slow motion. One, two, three, and then everything's tipping over my arms like water out of an overflowing tub. I can only stare helplessly, trying my best to cling on to as much as I can, as the other ones hit the floor and scatter all over my feet. By the time I finally manage to get a firm grip on what's left, I've made a royal mess.

Grunting in irritation, I place the remaining stack back on its original place and crouch down to gather the stray items. Utility bills, order forms from three years ago, receipts, flyers from a supermarket, empty envelopes, credit card statements; I shake my head as I unconsciously begin to take inventory of what I'm picking up. Good lord, these guys are ridiculous.

Then I come across the most bizzarre thing of them all—a stapled stack of paper that looks like somebody's school assignment. Out of curiosity, I take a peek at the first page.

_Cognitive Learning: An Experimental Analysis of Reinforcement and Punishment in Human Attraction_,_ by Szayelaporro Granz_.

* * *

I'm glad Ichi didn't ask me where I'm going after work, because I'm kind of a lousy liar. He doesn't need to know that I'm heading over to Cero Constructions to see one blue-haired son of a bitch. It's great timing too, because Ichi said he has to run some errands, so we'd both get home late.

There it is; I can see the shabby-looking building that they call their office across the street. It looks more like someone's wooden shack really. Pathetic. I have no idea why Geta-boshi hired them, of all people.

I study the surroundings carefully. The front door is closed. There are two cars in the parking lot; a baby blue truck that looks like it's well past its prime, and a black BMW M6 that looks completely out of place. The block is actually quite busy, so I'll have to be careful about causing a scene; not that I'm expecting that anything too dramatic to happen. I'm just here to give the jerk a piece of my mind. There has to be some justice in the world. You don't fuck around with Ichi and walk away just like that. You can't hurt Ichi and expect his best friend to watch quietly from the sidelines.

I shuffle over to the street junction where a bunch of people are waiting for the lights to turn green for pedestrians. I wonder how the asshole will react, how he's going to explain himself.

Right as the light turns green, I hear the sound of automatic doors sliding open behind me, and I turn around by reflex. It's a pharmacy. A man steps out onto the sidewalk.

Tall. Broad. Blue.

I crack my knuckles.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	17. Battles

**Here comes the climax of the story! One more chapter after this and it's sayonara to Shower! I owe a lot of you replies...I'm so so sorry, I'll catch up as soon as I can! **

**By the way, a few people asked me about the yaoi website (you perverts, you! *wink wink*). It's manga . animea . net. Just go there and browse their Yaoi section, they have a lot of good stuff, including Bleach doujinshi. My favorite (non-Bleach) mangaka is Miyamoto Kano for now. Check her out! Her drawings are amazing and the stories are awesome (though not all have a happy ending, be warned).**

**Anyway, moving on!**

* * *

I blame it on those damn hamburgers they had for lunch. That's the only thing they had that I _didn't_ have, and now guess who's not fighting over the toilet? Poor Nnoi even has to run for help at the florist two doors away, who—thank god—is nice enough to save him. I really don't want to even _think_ about the alternative outcome.

I eye the bottle in my hand a little skeptically. The pharmacist dude says this will work, but the kid had stuttered so badly when he went over the instructions that I don't know if I trust him. Well, I got a good look at his nametag, so if anything goes wrong at least I know I'll be looking for one Yamada Hanatarou.

I scowl as I step through the automatic doors. So much for intercepting Ichigo in front of the convenience store. By the time I feel comfortable enough to leave Ilforte and Nnoitra alone, Ichigo's probably back at Abarai's already. I don't want to look for him there, not with that nosy bastard around.

Just as I'm stuffing the bottle of medicine into my pocket, somebody steps in front of me, blocking my path to the pedestrian crossing.

"Jaegerjaques."

Ah, speak of the devil.

"Why, fancy meeting you here," I say with a sarcastic smile.

What is it with Abarai that makes my hackles rise everytime I see him? Maybe it's the hair, that offensive, _in-your-face_ crimson that just assaults your eyes point-blank like his head is on fire.

"Yeah, fancy that," he counters with an equally mocking grin.

Alarm bells begin to ring in my head as he rolls his shoulders casually. To an outsider, we may seem like a ordinary pair of friends having a casual banter, but Abarai is practically radiating hostility from every pore on his body. His eyes are hard, his jaw tense. Everything about him right now is rubbing me the wrong way, but until I know what's going on in that red head of his, I don't want to start a fight with Ichigo's best friend.

"What do you want?" I ask with a raised eyebrow, even though I have a good idea of what this is about.

Abarai drops his phony smile immediately and spits out, "You conceited, selfish bastard! How dare you play Ichi like that!"

I can feel the vein on my forehead twitch, but for Ichigo's sake, I merely clench my fists and keep them at my sides.

"I wasn't playing—" I start to growl deep in my throat, but I never got to finish my sentence.

I have to admit that I didn't see what's coming next until Abarai's fist is barely two inches away from my nose. I dodge as quickly as I can, but I still got clipped on the edge of my mouth. My teeth slices into the flesh of my lips with a sharp sting, followed immediately by the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. I touch my lips instinctively and grunt when my fingers come away red.

Abarai follows up with another punch, but this time I manage to block his fist before it reaches me. Gritting my teeth against my temper, I close my hand over his and yank him close. His eyes widen in surprise.

"Don't do this," I hiss a warning into his ear as I glance around us. As expected, people are beginning to slow down to stare at our little display.

His mouth quirks into a sneer. "Oh, but I've been _waiting_ for this moment."

* * *

_Granz_...

Where have I heard this name before?

I stand up slowly, eyes glued to the sophisticated-sounding title. Human psychology, huh? Sounds pretty neat. I take a quick glance around to see if I'm still alone. If I'm going to have to wait anyway, I might as well entertain myself. Leaning back against the desk, I flip to the second page.

"_Acknowledgement. I would like to dedicate this to my dear brother. Without him, I would not have been inspired to pursue this challenge, nor would I be able to find the perfect subject for this groundbreaking study_."

I feel my eyebrows arch towards my hairline. Groundbreaking study, huh? Who the hell praises their own work? This guy sounds like an asshole already.

Then my eyes settle on the next paragraph and everything freezes around me.

"_I would also like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to my subject, Grimmjow Jaegerjaques. This study would not be possible without him_."

Grimmjow.

Granz.

All of a sudden, something clicks in my head and my jaw falls slack. Too stunned to even gasp in surprise, I blink rapidly to make sure that I really did read what I think I just read.

Even though I haven't even gotten past the second page, somehow I know; _this _is the reason behind Grimmjow's behavior. Szayelaporro _Granz_, Ilforte _Granz_'s brother, Grimmjow's ex. This must be it: the painful experience that he had mentioned. I have this right here at my fingertips; everything that I've been wanting to ask him and more.

I take a deep breath and clutch the paper just a little tighter. Should I? Should I read it without his permission?

This is agonizing; the temptation, the _need_ to know. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. Somehow, this feels like a serious breach of Grimmjow's privacy. But then again...it has been placed right there, practically out in the open, just begging to be read...

Fuck it.

With almost feverish fervor, I turn the page.

* * *

"Fight back, you fucking coward!" I taunt as I pin him with a predatory gaze. My knuckles hurt, my arms hurt, my shins hurt, every-fucking-where hurts because all I've been doing for the past ten minutes is smashing into walls and lamp posts and every goddamn hard surface except Grimmjow Jaegerjaques.

Jaegerjaques is good. I can tell he is trained, he actually knows how to fight. Not just by brute force, too, although he does have the strength for it. He's cunning and he has skills, and he has been using them to piss me off all this time. He keeps blocking me, redirecting my hits away from his body, tripping me over and pushing me around, but never truly hitting back. Sure, he has landed a few shots that hurt like a bitch, but I can tell he isn't giving me his all. Still, I think I'm starting to get to him.

"Ichigo wouldn't want this," he says, his voice taking on a sharper, irritated tone.

You know what, _that's_ the part that's pissing me off. He says it like he knows Ichigo, as if he and Ichigo are so close that _I'm_ the fucking outsider. He's _so wrong_.

"Don't talk like you know what Ichi wants!" I scream.

He frowns at that and flexes his jaw. His patience is running short; the signs are so glaringly obvious—the flaring of his nostrils, the pink flush on his cheeks, the sweat dotting his brow. Much as I loath to admit it, I have to agree with Ichi about one thing: Jaegerjaques is one gorgeous bastard. Even with his teeth bared and his hair hanging limply over his forehead, he's still the picture of perfection—the ideal image of masculinity; tough, sexy, rugged.

But when it comes down to it, though, he's only a pretty package. Inside, he's nothing but a cold, cruel heartbreaker. I can accept Ichi loving some else, but why does it have to be Jaegerjaques? What does he have that_I_ don't? What makes _me_ less desirable than this asshole?

The unfairness of that stabs me like a sword in the chest and propels me forward, pushing me to lunge at him with a burst of renewed anger. I can feel adrenaline singing in my blood, spurring me on and lending me strength and stamina that I normally wouldn't have. He counters my hits easily, his movements so graceful that it just pisses me off even more. But then my next kick lands squarely in his gut; _finally_, a solid hit that sends him stumbling back with a grunt of pain. I let out a bark of laughter in victory.

His eyes narrows dangerously, then he shakes his head and asks, "This isn't about me anymore, is it?"

* * *

"_Operant conditioning, also known as instrumental conditioning, is a type of learning in which an individual's behavior is modified by its consequences. Reinforcement and punishment are the core tools of this conditioning process, and they can be categorized into positive (delivered after a response) and negative (withdrawn after a response)._"

I swallow thickly as I struggle to wrap my head around the scientific jargon; and to think, this is just the introduction.

_"Reinforcement is a consequence that causes a behavior to occur with greater frequency, while punishment is a consequence that causes a behavior to occur with less frequency_."

"_Positive reinforcement occurs when a behavior is followed by a stimulus that is rewarding, encouraging the individual to repeat said behavior. Negative reinforcement, on the other hand, occurs when a behavior is followed by the removal of an aversive stimulus. Positive punishment occurs when a behavior is followed by a stimulus that is serves as a repellent, such as introducing an electric shock. Negative punishment occurs when a behavior is followed by the removal of a stimulus, such as taking away a child's toy._"

I don't see how this is remotely connected to Grimmjow, but I read on; pages after pages of equally complicated, lengthy description of operant conditioning. After two chapters, my eyes start to glaze over with boredom. To say that this is dry would be an understatement. I flip the pages faster, skipping over some that have diagrams and quotes from previous studies, and then finally, I come across something that makes my heart flip-flop.

"_This experiment aims to demonstrate that even something as complex and unpredictable as human attraction can be controlled through conditioning. This so-called emotion, otherwise known as love, is nothing but a set of learned behaviors and responses that can be directed and shaped when the right stimulus is applied._"

"_The subject selected for this study is a twenty two-year old male who has been shown to be immune to such stimulus in the past, but I believe that it is simply because he has not been exposed to the correct techniques. I will prove that, given the correct application of these tools, he can be trained to adopt behaviors that are consistent with documented conducts of an individual involved in a romantic relationship._"

My hand flies to my mouth in horror. Of all the possibilities that I've thought of in my head—being cheated on, lied to, domestic violence, abandoned—this is unthinkable, unbelievable, and just plain fucking _cruel_. Is this kind of "study" even legal? I can't begin to understand what kind of sick, twisted mind this Szayelaporro fellow has to devise such an experiment, much less actually carrying it out on a living, breathing person.

I take a few deep breaths and stumble towards the office chair before sinking into it, my hands cold and shaking. I'm torn. On one hand, I want to know what happened, no—I _need_ to—know what happened, but at the same time I'm afraid to find out what this maniac has done to the man who has stolen my heart. It would crush me, certainly.

In the end, curiosity and desperation win, and I force myself to continue.

* * *

Abarai stares at me with the expression of someone who has just been slapped in the face.

"This isn't about me, or even about Ichigo anymore. This is about _you,_" I say, surprised by how calm I'm feeling.

Everything has become glaringly obvious now. The overprotectiveness, the confrontation we had at the shop, why he always rubs me the wrong way, _this_; Ichigo is more than a friend in Abarai's mind.

"What the fuck's that supposed to mean?" he asks stubbornly like he doesn't understand. He doesn't realize that his eyes can't lie. "Don't change the subject, Jaegerjaques!"

I almost want to sigh, but I can't afford to let my guard down. Abarai looks like he will strike again at any moment. Honestly, if this were anyone else, I would have no reservations beating him into bleeding heap, but this is Ichigo's best friend. It's taking all my willpower to hold myself back, though, and I can feel my control slipping with each passing minute.

"You're _jealous_," I state, keeping my arms in front of me in a defensive stance in case he goes berserk and attacks me after hearing this.

Sure enough, his face goes white for a moment, then he charges at me like a bull. I manage to block a mean right hook, but his next punch connects with my solar plexus and I nearly double over.

That's it. Something snaps in me and I throw myself into him. I'm vaguely aware of horrified gasps from the onlookers, then we're on the floor, grappling like a pair of enraged wrestlers. I try to pin him down with my body, but I don't have any weight advantage on him. Before I know it, he has me on my back, straddling my waist and scrambling to lock his hands around my throat. He looks like a mad man with his long hair undone, the red locks framing his face like flames.

At this point, the fight is beyond my control. Best friend or not, I've had enough of this shit. I suck in a deep breath and twist my body abruptly, the sudden movement throwing off his balance. I shove him off of me and jump back up before he has the chance to recover. A look of surprise fleets across his features, but he's on his feet in an instant, face set in a fierce snarl and eyes narrowed into slits.

Words are no longer necessary. This has turned into a fight for dominance.

* * *

The first chapter after the introduction is relatively tame; Szayelaporro starts with a detailed analysis of Grimmjow's psychological state, like something I imagine would be typical in a report about a mental patient. Most of it is pretty objective, written in such a clinical, detached way that I can't help but picture Grimmjow in a white jumpsuit confined in a padded cell. Then, towards the end, the man adds his own observations.

"_Over the course of the study, I found that self-esteem is a critical aspect of the subject's concept of self worth. He is fiercely protective of it, so much so that even the slightest threat will trigger his aggressive and violent traits. Therefore, subtlety is of utmost importance when I design the stimulus necessary for this experiment. In order to maximize the effectiveness of the stimulus, he must have absolute belief that all of his responses are of his own free will._"

He goes on to define a list of "target behaviors", each of them recorded and measured carefully in its own chapter. The details are heart-wrenching, describing how he used Grimmjow's competitive streak and sense of pride to manipulate him into pursuing him. Nothing is spared, even the most graphic and intimate information about their sex lives are displayed for the world to see. The thing that brings a lump to my throat is that, no matter how cold the words are, it is obvious that Grimmjow was happy while he was unwittingly "participating" in this study based on his documented reactions to the various "stimulus".

But it is this statement, brazen and reeking of the researcher's arrogance, that makes me sick to the stomach.

"_The famed Dr. B. F. Skinner once proposed that the way humans learn behavior is much the same as the way lab rats learn to press a button. As a fellow psychologist, I cannot concur more._"

My chest aches seeing Grimmjow being held in the same regard as a lab animal, and I feel a rush of helplessness as I imagine the pain that Grimmjow must've felt when he learned the truth. Letting out a breath that I don't even realize I've been holding, I clutch the paper to my chest and rest my forehead on the edge of the desk. I don't think I can read anymore of this, not right now.

"Ichigo? Is something wrong? What—"

I look up, still feeling dazed with shock, to find Ilforte frozen on his feet behind me and staring at the paper in my hands like he has seen a ghost. His face, which is already pale to begin with, is covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Woah!" I exclaim, jumping to my feet at once. "What happened? Are _you_ okay?"

Ilforte winces before sinking down on one of the plastic stools near the shelves. "A bad case of food poisoning, I'm afraid," he says weakly with a sheepish smile.

"Oh." I scratch the back of my neck, feeling a little awkward. "Uh...Is there anything I can do to help?" I ask.

"Nah, it's okay," he replies as he pats his stomach gingerly. "Grimm has gone to the pharmacy to grab us some meds, he should be back soon." He eyes the clock and frowns. "In fact, I'm surprised he isn't back yet, I guess the pharmacy must be busy..." He pauses, then his expression turns serious as he turns back to me, his eyes darting between the paper and my face. "Where'd you get that?"

"I..." Fidgeting uncomfortably, I point towards the crooked stack of old, discolored documents that I had hurriedly put together earlier. "I dropped them, and, uhh, it...fell...and I just..."

Ilforte squints at me as if he's trying to guess what's going on in my head. "I take it that you read it, then?" he asks quietly.

A renewed sense of heaviness settles in my gut as I nod. He sighs.

"That's too bad, he was going to tell you in person—"

Then, out of nowhere, the ear-splitting wail of a car alarm drowns out his voice just as his last sentence registers in my mind. We flinch at the same time, our hands flying instinctively to our ears to block the sound.

Grimmjow was going to tell me in person? But why? What does this mean? I can't think properly with this obnoxious blaring in the background. It's too loud, I can't think...

"Goddamnit, it must be right outside!" Ilforte shouts over the racket, grimacing as he pushes himself off of the stool with a soft grunt.

I reach the front door before Ilforte does. The first thing I see when the door swings open is a group of people standing in a circle on the sidewalk across the street. A few of them are holding cell phones in the air, apparently recording whatever's going on in the center. I find the source of the noise immediately: it's the car parked next to the crowd along the curb, its lights flashing and alarm shrieking full blast like a tornado siren.

"What the..." Ilforte gasps behind me.

As we gape blankly at the scene, the wailing car rocks violently in place suddenly as though it was hit by something from the side. The crowd parts briefly, and for a split second, I catch a glimpse of something that floors me completely.

Red.

Blue.

Red and blue. It's just a blur, and it's lost in the crowd again in a blink, but somehow I just _know_.

I need to stop them before they do something stupid.

* * *

"Wait! Stop!" I scream as Ichigo steps off the pavement right in front of me. I lunge after him, but my weakened limbs fail me and I trip over my own feet.

His head snaps to the side just a second too late, and I watch helplessly as his face is bathed in the bright glare from the front lights of the oncoming van.

* * *

It's the screeching of brakes that catches my attention.

My lips are split in multiple places and droplets of blood are dripping out of my nose with every ragged breath I take. My head is spinning from the impact with the body of the parked car. I have the front of Abarai's shirt clutched tightly in my fist and I'm about to leave another souvenir on his equally battered face when the sound of squealing tires cuts through the car alarm that's ringing in my ears.

I look up immediately, but all I see is a flash of orange before a flurry of paper is scattered into the wind.

* * *

I'm gritting my teeth, steeling myself for the inevitable hit when Jaegerjaques freezes suddenly. Then I smell the godawful stink of burnt rubber.

* * *

**To be continued...**

***Runs away from rocks and pitch forks***


	18. The End

**Ahhh...my deepest apologies for keeping all of you on the cliff for so long! My muse eluded me for the longest time, and didn't quite return until dear MMagnet provided me precious inspiration!**

**And here we are, the final chapter of Shower, the longest "one-shot" ever. ;)**

* * *

Have you ever experienced one of those moments where...you feel like your heart just skipped a beat and all the blood in your body seems to rush to your brain yet drain from your face at the same time? That's exactly how I feel when the white van finally skids to a stop at the intersection.

It can't be.

I must be mistaken.

But my body is already moving even as my mind is still blank. I let go of Abarai so abruptly that the man falls back onto the sidewalk like a sack of bricks, and I start running. I push past the murmuring crowd, who are definitely getting more than their share of action today. I sprint across the street, desperately willing that what I saw was a mistake.

My heart soars slightly when I don't find a body sprawled in front of the van, but then I run around the front and see a pair of legs stretched out on the road. The door on the driver's side is open, and there's a man standing next to it, blocking the owner of those legs. I can't see past the door and the man—whom I presume is the driver—but I recognize the pair of sneakers, and I recognize Ilforte's voice calling that dreaded name.

Everything fades into nothingness around me then. The van's gone, the man in front of me no longer exists, Ilforte's not there; it's just me and those damn sneakers.

Why is he here? What the _fuck_ is he doing here?

I stumble forward, arms extended to shove everything aside, and then I'm finally staring down at Ichigo.

* * *

My head fucking _hurts_. One minute I'm about to cross the street, and the next second I'm on my butt, ears ringing and heart pounding like I just went down on the world's steepest roller coaster ride. I don't even remembering ducking. I guess I should thank my dad for instilling lightning-fast reflexes in me over the years, otherwise I'd be lying face-down in a pool of gore under those tires. But I still got clipped on the side of the head by the side view mirror, which explains the ringing in my ears. _Or_ they might be ringing because of Ilforte's hysterical wails. The man can't seem to accept that I'm still very much alive. I haven't decided whether I should laugh or cry.

I'm prodding the side of my head gingerly, scowling, when a shadow looms over me ominously. Gulping, I lift my head and immediately find myself pinned by the familiar, bluest, most stunning pair of eyes I've ever seen in my life, except I've never seen them quite like _this_. I've never seen them with such a frantic, almost crazed gleam in them.

Grimmjow takes another step towards me stiffly. His normally-flawless face is a mess, bruised and swollen and bleeding, like he's the one who just got hit by a car.

"My god!" I exclaim in shock, forgetting my own throbbing head at once. Then another equally bloodied face pops up behind Grimmjow's shoulder and I'm so horrified that I can't help but repeat the sentiment in a louder voice.

The driver of the van that nearly mowed me over—okay, I admit, I'm the one who stepped into its path—looks at the three of us with wide, frightened eyes. I think the poor fellow is more shaken than I am.

"I'm okay," I tell everyone, especially the van driver, who's beginning to look like he's going to bawl his eyes out. "See, just a scratch. Seriously, I'm fine—"

The rest of my assurance is lost when a crushing weight knocks the air from my lungs suddenly. I gasp in surprise, then realize belatedly that Grimmjow has fallen to his knees and he's hugging me to his chest like I'd float away and disappear if he lets go. In all the intimate moments we've shared, he has never once held me this way. I can feel his arms shaking as he cups the back of my head with one of them while the other is wrapped around me. He's hugging me so tightly that my face is practically plastered against his neck, my nose buried in his sweaty blue locks.

"G-grimm..." I sputter uncertainly. "I'm okay."

* * *

I think it is at that moment that I truly believe that Jaegerjaques cares more about Ichi than he lets on. He hasn't said a word since he left me lying on the sidewalk feeling all confused and pissed off. Of course, it had taken me only five extra seconds to realize what had grabbed his attention. I remember thinking "wow, I hope nobody got hit", then it occurred to me that Jaegerjaques' shop is just right across the street and _maybe_ it's one his friends. So I got up and ran after him.

When I saw that it was _Ichigo_ who's sitting on the ground, I thought my heart was going to give out. Even right now, after seeing that he's alright, my heart's still taking its own sweet time crawling up from my stomach. I want to rush up and scoop Ichi up myself, but something about the way Jaegerjaques is acting stops me. I don't think he means for anyone to witness this, but I doubt he cares at this point.

Honestly, I don't know what to think or how to feel. To say that I'm no longer mad at the man would be a blatant lie, but something inside of me crumbles at the sight of the two of them holding each other like this. It breaks my heart knowing that I would never be able to do this with Ichigo, but seeing him in the arms of someone he loves makes it worthwhile. I have always known, anyway, that my part in Ichigo's life is as his best friend, as the rock that he can always rely on; and I will always be no matter what.

While the three of us are lost in our own worlds, Ilforte seems to have recovered from his shock. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, vaguely registering that he's talking to the flustered-looking van driver. I watch the driver climb into the van and drive off, and then Ilforte goes about picking up the pieces of paper that are strewn all around us. I'm actually surprised that the cops aren't here yet, but I'm not about to complain. It's not like I'm eager to be arrested for disturbing the peace.

Nnoitra, the other guy who works with Jaegerjaques, shows up after a while. I look at him, feeling mildly curious yet strangely numb. The man looks sickly pale, his usual fierce snarl absent today. His eyes widen in confusion as he takes stock of our haggard appearance, and Ilforte drags him aside immediately.

Then, the next thing I know, I'm being ushered into their shop. It's a cramped, messy old thing, but it has a cozy feel to it. I plop down into the plastic stool that Ilforte offers to me and watch the blonde flit around the room handing out towelettes and ice packs. Jaegerjaques slips Nnoitra a mysterious pink bottle, and the tall, lanky man hurries away clutching it like a precious treasure. I wonder fleetingly what kind of trouble he's in, but Ichigo keeps distracting me with his questions and prodding. Despite looking pale and shaken himself, he examines our injuries and does what he can with the antiseptic wash provided by Ilforte. He tries to convince us to see a doctor, but of course, being the manly men that we are, Jaegerjaques and I decline without hesitation.

Ichigo gives up eventually and takes a seat next to Jaegerjaques, then we're suddenly staring at each other at the same time, silently demanding an explanation for...well, everything. Ichigo and Ilforte look pointedly at Jaegerjaques and I first, and my heart sinks. It doesn't take a genius to figure out why we got into an altercation, but will Jaegerjaques give my secret away? Is he going to tell Ichigo what I've been hiding for nearly two decades? My breath hitches in my throat, where a lump is quickly forming as Jaegerjaques stares at the floor with an unreadable expression on his face. I can hardly see his eyes, which are partially hidden behind the ice pack that he's pressing against his cheekbone.

_Don't. Please don't. _

After a long, suspenseful—for me, anyway—pause, he finally lifts his head. I hold my breath and brace for the worst.

"Let's just say...he knocked some sense into me," he says.

For a moment, I thought I've misheard, but Jaegerjaques turns to me and smirks.

"Right, Abarai?" he asks.

* * *

I swear Renji looks as surprised as I feel. Right, like I'd believe that. Across from me, Ilforte purses his lips but says nothing. Clearly, Grimmjow isn't fooling anyone.

"Yeah," Renji gushes, his cheeks tinted pink; a telltale sign that he's lying. What's even stranger, though, is the look of gratitude he's sending Grimmjow. For two people who were just exchanging blows not half an hour ago, they sure look very friendly with each other.

I want to call him out, but one look in Grimmjow's direction stops me. At first I thought he's still staring at Renji, but the smile that was on his face just a second ago is now gone, and he's gaping right ahead with wide, shocked eyes. I follow his gaze and freeze when I realize that he's looking at what's left of Szayel's paper, which Ilforte had thrown on the desk when we first came in.

I think I stopped breathing for a split second as I watch Grimmjow's feature darken. Even Renji senses the change, and we all sit up a little straighter, just waiting for him to explode.

"So you read it?" he asks me, his eyes boring into mine, the glacial blue orbs gleaming with something I can't quite identify.

I nod, heart pumping violently in my ribcage. My instincts are screaming at me to bolt, to shrink back from the intimidating aura that's wafting from his body despite his seemingly-calm exterior, but I stand my ground. I've had enough of running and hiding and guessing. There are too many questions that need to be answered.

He frowns, then rubs his face vigorously with his palm. "Ah what the hell," he says, breathing out a resigned sigh. "I was going to tell you anyway."

* * *

...xxXXxx...

* * *

"A little more to the left...ohh, yesss..." I moan as a small shudder of pleasure courses through my body under long, sensual fingers.

Ichigo chuckles softly. "Mmm...like this?" His hands, slick with our favorite peach-scented body wash, slides slowly over to my left shoulder blade. He presses down on the muscles and kneads, loosening the knots on my back.

I breathe out a contented sigh and lean into him. "Lower..."

He follows my whispered instruction, and I feel his smooth palms slip towards my waist. My skin breaks out in goosebumps under his slippery touch. "Lower," I say again. It feels amazing to have his hands all over me, especially knowing that he's standing right behind me covered in nothing but soap suds.

"Lower, huh?" he asks dryly as he heads downwards.

I imagine the peeved expression on his face and snicker under my breath. "Yeah, lower..." I repeat, letting my voice dip low and husky. "Something is aching down there and it needs you."

Ichigo stills for a second, then something hot and wet brushes against my neck. "I thought you said you wanted a massage," he says into my ear between kitten-like licks on my earlobe.

"Yeah," I chuckle and turn around to face him.

A faint dusting of pink appears on his cheeks as his eyes dart to my _aching_ body part. "I want one with a..._happy ending_," I murmur. Closing our distance, I cup the back of his head and trace my tongue along the shell of his ear. I hear his breath catch in his throat, and he shivers as I begin to back him up against the marble shower wall. He steps back slowly, almost trance-like, until there's nowhere else to go, then I tilt his chin up to place a brief peck on his lips.

It's nostalgic; seeing him flushed and bothered against the wall, his hair wet and limp with rivulets of water streaming down his neck. He can barely keep his eyelids open; the amber orbs within dark and watery. I run my thumb over his parted lips and soak up the sight in front of me. I cannot imagine anything more beautiful than this: _Ichigo_, still here with me after one grueling year.

I draw a sharp breath when he nibbles on my thumb and starts to suck on it, his gaze turning from lustful to mischievous as he makes the most lewd slurping sounds I've ever heard. A jolt of arousal rushes southward, and with a barely-suppressed groan, I yank my finger away and replace it with my tongue. A soft mewl escapes his lips as I push past them rudely to delve deeper into his enticing mouth. He seems to melt against me under the assault, his hands finding their way around my neck and tugging me down to compensate for our height difference.

I give up on trying to breathe properly as my hands travel down his lean, lithe torso until they come to rest at the swell of his butt. There, I knead the supple flesh, mimicking the way he had done it to my shoulders and back earlier. He bucks into me, moaning, and I feel the rigid length of his arousal against my own. That, my friends, is where I park my self restraint.

He yelps in surprise as I lift one of his legs, but realization dawns on his face almost immediately. His cheeks turn a deeper shade of red as he hooks his leg around mine. We exchange a heated look—him, panting harshly through kiss-swollen lips, and I, eyes wild with need—and then I press into him slowly, my hands holding his hips flush against my body.

Before he can make another sound, I silence him with a fierce kiss. He moans into my mouth and tightens his leg around me. I can feel his hands scrambling for purchase on my back, his nails scratching and digging into my skin. Abandoning all pretense of maintaining any sort of steady pace, I snap my hips and bury myself into his snug, velvety passage. His teeth grazes my tongue as he cries out again, the sound muffled as I press our lips together to keep our volume down.

Maybe it's our mood, or maybe it's the thrill from the fact that we're currently borrowing Ilforte's bathroom; my stamina betrays me today, and as Ichigo clenches around me, I know that I'm at my limit. Leaving one hand still holding him steady against the wall, I reach between us to find his neglected erection. One stroke; two, three, and by four, he arches his back and spills himself in my fist. The rhythmic spasms of his muscles finally pushes me over the edge, and I nearly bite my own tongue as he milks me dry, the pleasure so intense that I see white for a split second. His body continues to shudder as he rides through his peak, and I hold him close and wait until we've both calmed down enough to stand on our own before untangling our limbs.

And then of course, we have no choice but to shower all over again.

As we dry ourselves, I attempt steal another kiss when Ichigo's not paying attention, only to fail as he smacks me away.

"Stop it! We need to get out before Ilforte thinks that we've drowned in here!" he hisses with a look of horror.

I laugh heartily as I picture Ichigo's reaction if that really were to happen, and decide that while I'd enjoy seeing his face turn fire-engine red, I still value my life enough not to risk his wrath.

When we finally step into the living room, though, I realize that Ichigo's fear is unnecessary. Nnoitra is in the kitchen rummaging for food; the only thing I can see of that man being his skinny rear sticking out from the fridge. And then there, sitting side-by-side on the sofa, Ilforte and Abarai are completely immersed in the movie they're watching. Abarai's hands are draped carelessly across the back of the couch, his large frame taking up most of the space, while Ilforte sits next to him, his head resting partially on the redhead's shoulder.

I still remember, almost exactly one year ago, how Abarai had come up to me privately after hearing my story. He had thanked me for keeping his secret. My reply was straightforward; it just isn't my place to tell Ichigo such a thing. I told him then, that he doesn't have to hold back because of me, should he ever feel the need to finally confess his feelings after so many years. He had simply shaken his head with a smirk and warned me that if I ever hurt Ichigo again, he would not go so easy on me next time.

_Pfft_.

I wouldn't dream of giving him such a chance. I may not be the brightest bulb around, nor am I the most romantic, thoughtful partner a man could have, but I would never allow myself to make the same mistake twice.

I navigate to the kitchen to join Nnoitra with Ichigo trailing behind; both of us trying our best to be as quiet as possible so that we don't alert the two movie-watchers to our presence.

"Ya sure took yer sweet time," Nnoitra grumbles as he hands me a small carton of milk and Ichigo a can of Coke. He eyes us suspiciously and settles his gaze on Ichigo's abnormally flushed face. "Aww shucks, don't tell me ya..."

The look of utter horror on Ichigo's face is priceless, and Nnoitra breaks into a wide, toothy grin. The animosity between the two of them have long since evaporated, but that doesn't mean Nnoitra doesn't take every opportunity to prey on Ichigo's easily-riled embarrassment.

I decide to interfere before Ichigo spontaneously combusts. "So what're you doing here all alone?"

The question brings a scowl to Nnoitra's face. "I feel like a fucking third wheel, had ta seek refuge here before I collapse under the weight of their stupidity," he mumbles darkly.

I snort and lean back against the kitchen counter to look at the two men. It feels a little strange yet oddly comforting, seeing the two of them here, _knowing_ that they probably haven't even realized it yet themselves. I glance at Ichigo and see a similar smile on his lips. I think...I think this might be the beginning of something good.

* * *

**The End.**

**A heartfelt thank you to everyone who followed this story from the beginning to the end! It's been a bumpy ride with lots of writer's block along the way...you guys have been so patient and supportive! **


End file.
